#I remind Drew every year so that the memory can live on forever.
Text
Happy Anniversary to that time my friend and I got so high in college we started talking about how much we fucking loved 2nd street on the way to the bars, only to realize we had been walking on 3rd the entire time.
#20 minutes on 3rd street felt like we were in a time loop#The steet looks the same all the way down so it felt like we were making no progress for 84 years.#Truly an iconic moment#I remind Drew every year so that the memory can live on forever.
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
In Memory of Him | It's Cold In Here
↳ Florist!Taehyung x Artist!f.Reader
⤜ Non-Idol, Late Husband's Best Friend
⤜ Rating: MA 🔞
⤜ WC: 13,558
⚠️ Mild language, death/loss of a loved one, deep depression, high anxiety, loads of guilt, hidden feelings, realizations, hurt feelings, repressed feelings, hurt/comfort
Next Chapter⇾ (coming soon!)
◅ Back to story masterlist
With trembling fingers, you smooth out the letter that you found attached to a bundle of flowers on your doorstep.
To the love of my life, For after the funeral
Take a deep breath, baby, I know it’s not easy. Even as I sit and write this, I can feel your energy in the next room. You’re always such a worrier, I’m sorry I’ve added to that. It’ll all be better soon, I promise. But, I know you and I know that you’ll pull away, you’ll cut yourself off…and we can’t have that, now can we? You have to keep going if we’re to stay connected even after I’m gone.
So, here’s the first of a collection of some things that you can hold and look back on when the storm starts to roll in. There are only so many words in existence to describe what you mean to me. So, instead of words, I want you to remember these feelings:
Warmth - like the sun on your face while you read a great book
Satisfaction - the way you sigh softly after a good, lazy day in bed
Contentment - waking up with a smile on your face every morning
Peace - that moment of quiet before the rain starts, when the scent of petrichor filters in
These are all the things you’ve brought into my life the last seven years. I’ve never been able to look at the sun, sleeping, smiles, or storms the same. Never did I imagine I’d meet and marry such a beautiful, kind-hearted soul with a genuinely unique outlook on life. I never had to be reminded to smile because it just came so naturally whenever you were around. You have brought so much light into my world and gave me the best years of my life. You also gave me Sujin, the perfect little replica of myself even if you think he looks more like you than me (I secretly agree, but that’s not something I’ll admit outloud). When I look at our wonderful son, I’m reminded of the beauty that first drew me to you all those years ago. Being his father is the second greatest achievement of my life, the first being making you fall madly in love with me…don’t laugh, you know it’s true. Many people see things in black and white, a beginning and an end…but our life isn’t like that. We’re full of color and everything in between. You’ve supported me at my best and have loved me at my worst. Everything good in my life is because of you. I know you’ll always love me, and I know it won’t be easy once I’m gone, but I need you to promise me you’ll continue to wake up with that smile on your face and never forget how the sun feels or how beautiful the quiet before the storm is. I need my light, my girl, to keep going. Be that guiding light so I know exactly where you are in the world as I watch over you and Sujin. We knew forever wasn’t guaranteed, that’s just the way life is, right? This doesn’t mean it’s over, not by a long shot. You still have so much more to give, so much more love to offer.
I know you’d never forget about me, that’s not what this letter is for—it’s not a reminder of me, it’s a reminder to live, love, and keep shining. There are more where this came from, Taehyung has them and knows what to do, but not until you’re ready for them. I love you so much, never stop living—for me, for Sujin…for you.
Love forever,
Your Yejun
The letter crumples in your fist, the bundle of hibiscus and lavender it was attached to forgotten on the step between your feet as you bury your face in the crook of your elbow and scream. It’s better that way—the symbolism of the hibiscus flower on a letter from Yejun is a punch to the gut when he’s no longer here. Eternity? Bullshit. The sound is muffled into the thick wool of your coat but no less filled with agony. As if the day wasn’t hard enough, everything went belly-up when you found the flowers and the letter on your door step. You choke on a breath of air as you try to control yourself.
“Yejun.” His name drips from your trembling lips, absorbed into your jacket sleeve like your cries. “I miss you so much. Why did you have to leave us?”
A hand on your shoulder makes you flinch, jerking away from the potential comfort, despite it being exactly what you need right now. You crowd against the wall, knees knocking into one another as you huddle in on yourself where you’re sitting in the stairwell outside your apartment door.
“Hey, hey, hey, come here,” a strong, soothing voice coos. Your limbs protest weakly for a moment, your heart raging with guilt at the prospect of finding solace in another man’s arms—even if that man is Taehyung, your now late husband's best friend—but the desperate need for someone to hold your pieces together wins out. You fear if you let yourself truly break, you’ll never be able to be made whole again. You frantically launch into those open arms, keening a wail into the solid chest between them. “Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”
💔💔💔
Two years later
“Mommy, are we going to Uncle Tae’s house today?” Sujin asks from behind you, where he’s strapped into his booster seat.
You glance in the rearview mirror, angling yourself so you catch a glimpse of his smile as he stares out the window, patiently awaiting your answer. It’s gotten easier over the last two years to look at him without growing weepy. He looks like and reminds you so much of Yejun. They have the same chestnut-colored eyes and floppy midnight tresses. When he smiles, the tiny dimple on his left cheek is a near mirror to his father’s and something that your eyes seek out every time he flashes you a grin. Little pieces of his father that fill the gaps in your heart.
“Did you not want to stay at Grandma’s tonight? That’s what you said you wanted yesterday,” you remind him.
Sujin hums like he’s thinking hard about your question. “Well, I did want to go to Grandma’s, but I also want to see Uncle Tae, and plus, he always has good ice cream. All Grandma has is boring vanilla.”
“How about we see if Uncle Tae wants to hang out this weekend? I think Grandma would be sad if you decided not to stay with her tonight.”
In truth, you’d also be a bit disappointed if Sujin changed his mind. Being only four when his father passed, he doesn’t remember Yejun much, mostly knows him from photos and stories he’s heard. So, it’s not surprising he’s not able to put together that today is the second anniversary of his father’s passing. He doesn’t know that tonight isn’t just about your mom getting a visit. It’s also about you having an evening to grieve without being under your son's watchful and inquisitive eye.
Though maybe you’re wrong, perhaps he knows more than you think as he responds softly, “It’s okay, Mommy, I’ll stay with Grandma so you can go visit Daddy.”
If it wasn’t for tightening your grip on the steering wheel, you might have driven right off the highway. “You know what today is?” you ask hesitantly once your initial shock passes.
“Of course I do,” Sujin says with another smile, his dimple catching in the afternoon sunlight coming in through the car window. “I might not remember him, but I could never forget him.” It’s a wonder there aren’t more six-year-old poets, as what he just said is easily the most eloquent thing ever uttered by a child. Your heart swells, and you feel that telltale burn in the back of your nose and behind your eyes as you blink away the flood of emotions threatening to spill into the open.
You nod, taking a deep breath. “That’s right. He’d be so proud of you and how much you’ve grown.”
“He’d be proud of you, too, Mommy.”
It’s another blow, directly targeting the cracks already forming in your armor. Fissures zip and snap over the surface of the wall you’ve spent the last two years building. “Thank you, buddy. I love you,” you manage to get past the lump in your throat.
The rest of the car ride home is spent with Sujin telling you about his day at school and how one of his classmates snuck a salamander into the classroom after recess. You hum, haw, and laugh as he recounts the way the class reacted to the discovery of the amphibian.
It makes you feel lighter, listening to his words and hearing the clear whimsy his heart possesses as the salamander suddenly becomes a dragon and Sujin, the fearless knight that saved the teacher—the damsel in distress—by scooping it up and putting it in an empty lunch box.
“She said since I was so brave and such a good helper that I could go outside with Mr. Kim, the science teacher, and help him release it back into the wild,” he proudly proclaims. “Did you know salamanders like water? Mr. Kim said they’re kind of like frogs even though they look more like lizards.” Sujin continues on, spouting off facts he learned about the salamander from his science teacher.
It’s a short drive from the school to your apartment. You’ve often thought about moving, using some of the life insurance money from Yejun to buy you and Sujin a lovely place outside the city. But, your mom lives just a floor up, and it’s been convenient having someone so close to look after Sujin when you need them, like tonight.
Having your mom close by, not just as a babysitter but also as an emotional support outlet, has been a blessing and far outweighs the other feelings—the seemingly endless void that now lingers in place of your late husband. With that, though, you can’t help looking at your small apartment as more like a preservation of memories. It was the first place you and Yejun moved into after getting married. It’s the place you both brought Sujin home to when he was born. It’s still filled with so many memories…you’re not sure you want to leave—at least, not yet.
The building has no elevator, just several winding flights of steps right up the middle. “Go on up to Grandma’s. I’ll stop by with dinner before I leave. Remember, homework first before you play.”
Sujin gives you a beaming smile and nods his head in understanding before vaulting up the stairs, his strong six-year-old legs carrying him far faster than your own. You watch him disappear up the stairs—the last flash of his face so reminiscent of Yejun racing up those very same steps the day you moved in—followed by the familiar sound of your mother’s voice drifting out over and down the stairwell as she welcomes him into her space—a safe space, away from the looming cloud of darkness over you.
Knowing he’s occupied and cared for, you allow your mask to slip just a little. The weight on your shoulders eases as you let the emotional fatigue roll in and replace your typically calm and collected demeanor. Even after two years, it’s not gotten any easier when this particular day comes. The holidays are hard, sure. There are plenty of days where you find yourself feeling like it’s too much…but nothing truly compares to this day. It’s not filled with happy memories the way those other days are. It’s nothing but darkness. There is a constant ache in your chest, which is amplified when the calendar turns over, and you find yourself once again reliving that fateful day all over again.
You spent nearly every waking hour sitting beside Yejun, the uncomfortable, stiff hospital chair becoming your permanent perch. The ventilator was always loud, but the punching swoosh grew to be comforting because you knew that meant he was still there. All the lines and tubes hooked up to him made it look like a scene from one of those sci-fi films he enjoyed making you watch with him. Yejun was so full of life when you first met, many years before. But, the image stuck in your mind—the one you can’t seem to get rid of—is of him with sallow cheeks and pale, greyish lips, drained of life.
It’s weird to think of watching someone die. But that’s precisely what you did over the six months Yejun was in the hospital. The disease moved quickly, the cancer stealing your husband away bit by bit, and you were powerless to stop it. That’s probably one of the worst parts, the helpless feeling that no matter what you do, you can’t prevent it from happening. No amount of prayer, begging, or screaming would change it. He’d still die, just the same. Day by day, the best parts of the man you loved vanished, and by the end—you feel guilty even thinking the thoughts, so you push them out of your head.
After unlocking the door, you step into the quiet space of your apartment. Your shoes join the ones discarded by the door before you drop your purse on the small console table against the wall and make your way across the living room to the hall leading to the bedrooms. Sujin’s room is the first door. You peek inside to see that he had made up his bed before school this morning. You make a mental note to grab one of his chocolate popsicles from the freezer before dropping off dinner tonight. He deserves a little treat for being such a good kid.
The small single bathroom sits between Sujin’s room and the larger of the two bedrooms, the one you shared with Yejun for almost five years. You haven’t changed any of the decor. Everything is the same as it always has been, right down to the pillow on Yejun’s side of the bed. It took months before you mustered the courage to wash the pillow case and cried the entire time you stripped the pillow and plopped it in the washer.
The pillow was small fish compared to the closet. Going through all of Yejun’s clothes nearly took you out. Thankfully, Taehyung was there to help. You weren’t the only one that lost someone two years ago today. Taehyung and Yejun grew up together and worked together for the last dozen years, starting out as teens together at Taehyung’s parents' florist shop. They are—were—as close as brothers, and not just for the fact that Taehyung’s parents took Yejun in when his parents both passed, but because of their unbreakable bond—a bond nearly as strong as the one you had with Yejun.
Taehyung has been there for you whenever you’ve needed him since Yejun’s passing. All it takes is a phone call or a text message, and he drops everything for you. You try not to take advantage of it because you don’t want him sucked into your empty void any more than he already is. No grown man should be attached to a woman like that, especially when he has no obligation for it.
But, you must admit, it’s nice knowing he’s there…especially today. This is the one day of the year that you know you don’t have to text or call Taehyung for him to show up. His one promise to you. He’ll be there, waiting for you at the cemetery, just like he was last year.
You pull off your oversized t-shirt and worn jeans covered in splotches of paint from your time in the studio today. Once a well-known local artist, you haven’t been able to create anything worthwhile since Yejun passed. He would always joke about being your one true muse. It seems he wasn’t wrong. Everything you’ve been able to create in the last two years feels wrong, like it’s missing something.
The life insurance you received from Yejun has been more than enough to keep you and Sujin afloat. However, you feel like a failure having even to touch that money, even if it’s just to pay the bills. If you could just get your life together, you’d be able to provide for yourself and Sujin the way you once did—before everything happened. Shoving that line of thinking away, you focus on the here and now, just getting through the next handful of hours.
A quick shower later, and you’re dressed in a warm sweater and a clean pair of jeans with thick wool socks. It’s cold, winter having well and truly taken hold outside, but when the sun goes down, the bite from the wind grows more bitter. Grabbing the large, lidded bowl of beef stew you had cooking in the slow cooker all day. You wrap it in a dish towel to keep from burning your hands on the hot sides, snag a popsicle for Sujin, and make the short trip upstairs to your mom’s place.
“Hey, sweetheart,” your mom greets you when she opens the door. She’s gotten a lot more grey in her hair in the last year or so. The steel-colored strands stand out against her temples, framing her strong but still soft face. You used to think she looked too austere, but then you realized that was just the permanent mark of motherhood and time.
“Hi, Mom. Did Sujin get his homework done?” You follow your mom in, shutting and locking the door behind you as she ambles into the kitchen on the other side of the living room. Her apartment is a near mirror of your own, her second bedroom set up for Sujin as well.
“He finished a bit ago and wanted to break out the paints. Was nattering on about some sort of lizard, I think. He wanted to try to paint it,” she explains, putting the tea kettle on without needing to ask. Peppermint tea with a dollop of honey can fix even the worst of woes in her eyes. She’ll insist you have some just as she has any other time she can feel your darkness crowding in. You’ve grown to appreciate your mother's intuition, both for yourself and your son's sake.
“There was an incident involving a student bringing in a salamander at school, it seems. Sujin helped the teacher and was allowed to go out with Namjoon—Mr. Kim—to release it.” You recall the conversation in the car, your mother chuckling softly when you tell her about the salamander turning into a dragon.
She busies herself, packing the tea steeper with her own blend of mint tea. Tending the small garden of herbs and spices that she keeps on the fire escape off the living room, is how she spends most of her days since she retired a few years ago. Even in winter, she keeps a small plastic greenhouse over them, opening it just enough to care for them each day. “So, you’re on a first-name basis with that science teacher now?” she asks. You can tell she’s lightly probing, trying to figure out if there is anything more between you and ‘Mr. Kim’.
“I met him at the beginning of the year when we had parent-teacher meetings. He insisted I call him Namjoon, that’s all, Mom.”
Humming, she grabs the kettle just before it begins to whistle. “Still, he’s nice?” she asks, casting you a glance over her shoulder.
You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, wishing she’d not try to go down this path of questioning. You know she means well, but you’re just…you’re not ready to think about those things.
“He’s nice enough, Mom, I guess. It was just a slip of the tongue. I’m used to greeting him at drop-off in the mornings. It’s not—I don’t, it’s just being cordial, y’know? I’m not ready…” you trail off, hoping your mom picks up on what you’re trying to say so you don’t actually have to say it; not today.
Her free hand goes to her mouth, covering her frown. “Oh, sweetheart, I didn’t mean—you know I’d never, not like that. I’m sorry. Forgive an old fool for her loose words.”
“It’s okay, Mom, really,” you offer with a tight smile as you set the stew on the counter and pop the popsicle you brought for Sujin in the freezer.
She sets down the tea, the cup slightly trembling on the tiny saucer she serves it on. “I made some pajeon to go with the stew. It’s warming in the oven. Are you going to stay for dinner?” she asks, seeing that you need to move on from the previous subject.
You settle on one of the chairs at her small dining table, pick up the tiny teacup, and blow across the surface before taking a tentative sip. The mint is a cooling contrast to the heat of the liquid, coating your throat with a soothing sensation. The blooming sweetness of the honey lingers on your tongue, helping combat the intense punch of the minty flavor. It’s comforting. Reminds you of home.
“I’m not all that hungry. You and Sujin enjoy it. You’re sure you’re okay taking him to school tomorrow?” She gives you a fond smile and nods. “I’ll pick him up on my way home and we’ll come have dinner.”
“That’s fine, sweetheart.”
You finish off the tea, suppressing a grimace as it goes down a little too warm and nearly scalds your throat. The sun will be completely down soon, and you’d like to get to the cemetery before it’s too dark out. “I should get going. Just going to say hi to him real quick.”
Your mom watches you stand. Her eyes are hyper-focused on your face. “Okay, sweetheart,” she says slowly. It’s clear she wants to say more, but you’re glad she doesn’t push.
The room your mom has set up for Sujin has a small bed pushed into one corner, leaving the rest of the space for him to play—unlike his room at your place, which has a writing desk and dresser taking up the majority of the play space. He’s never complained, though, choosing to get creative with the small room he does have. “Hey, buddy, Grandma said you’re painting. Can I see?”
You lean on the door jamb, peering into the room. The easel Sujin is using is angled away from the door. All you can see is smears of bright color peeking around the edge of the canvas.
His bright eyes meet yours as he grins extra wide. “It’s not done yet, but of course you can see it.”
Stepping in and around the easel frame, you take in the canvas covered in paint. When your mom said he was going to paint the salamander, you knew there was a possibility of said ‘lizard’ being portrayed as a dragon as it was in Sujin’s story in the car. But what you didn’t expect were the characters surrounding the dragon. You count them, six in total. The brunette woman at the top of the castle tower is clearly Sujin’s teacher, Mrs. Min. Sujin himself is astride the dragon, and who you think is Namjoon stands in a corner near some trees, his large-frame glasses are what lead you to believe that’s who it is. The other three characters are where you’re a bit lost.
“Who are these people?” you ask, gesturing to the other feminine figure framed by two men; one with unruly black hair and the other with small angel wings extending from his shoulders. It dawns on you the moment you ask.
“That’s you, Daddy, and Uncle Tae, of course,” Sujin proudly states. “You were in the tower with Mrs. Min. I’m rescuing her, and Uncle Tae is rescuing you while Daddy guides him.”
You’re not sure what to say. But you can’t help looking at your son in a different light. He’s only six, but in moments like this, you feel like his soul is older and wiser than yours. “It’s lovely,” you finally say, because it truly is, and everything else you could say would definitely start the waterworks, and there will be enough of that later. “I’ll be back tomorrow to get you. Be good for Grandma. There’s a treat for you in the freezer, but only after dinner, okay?” You feel like you’re running away—and maybe you are, but the darkness creeps in just a little bit further the more you look at his painting.
“Yes, ma’am,” Sujin beams at you sweetly. He lifts his chin, angling a cheek in your direction for a kiss. You plant one there, throwing an arm around his back for a quick squeeze, too. “Love you, Mommy.”
“Love you, too, buddy,” you murmur, shoving down the suffocating feeling bubbling in your chest—just need to make it a few more hours.
💔💔💔
The cemetery is about an hour's drive from your place in the city. Yejun grew up in the countryside, and the columbarium where he’s interred is at the cemetery closest to his and Taehyung’s childhood home. It’s a quiet drive, a typical Tuesday evening if it were any other week. You don’t even bother with music, haven’t in the last two years, preferring to just soak in the quiet and try to center yourself.
As you pull into the parking area outside the gate to the grounds, you spot Taehyung’s black SUV. He’s standing beside it, leaning against the driver's side door with his chin tipped down below the line of the thick scarf wrapped around his neck. Your headlights swing across his vehicle, illuminating him in the process as you park.
You take your time climbing out of your car, casting fleeting glances in his direction while you gather your courage and resolve. He’s wearing a thick grey-colored tweed coat that covers him to the knees, and khaki slacks lead down to shiny brown loafers. His hair is windswept, the fluffy waves moving across his forehead with every gust of chilly air.
“Hey,” you say as you swing open your door and step out. He catches your eye over the roof of your car and gives you a soft smile.
“Good evening. Drive okay?”
You nod. “Not too much traffic, which is always nice.”
“You should have let me come and pick you up.” It’s the same thing he said last year, to which you decline politely just the same as well.
“Thanks, but I enjoy the drive. Gives me time to think.”
His eyes flick over you, taking you in from head to toe. There is understanding clear on his face. “Shall we?” He gestures toward the entrance gate. You notice a small bundle of flowers held in his other hand that’s hanging by his side. “Oh, this is for you.” It surprises you when Taehyung offers you the flowers, having thought he was bringing them to leave in Yejun’s vase.
You take the offered cluster, automatically bringing it to your nose and giving it a delicate sniff. It’s hard to smell the fragrance in the cold, but as you peer down at the flowers and take in the deep purple and soft pink, the scent of lavender and hibiscus filters through as if on a memory. It’s a combination that reminds you painfully of Yejun, as this was always his go-to whenever he would bring you home flowers from the shop after work.
“Thank y—“ your polite words cut off as you hear the distinct crackle of paper as you shift the bundle of flowers between your hands. “What’s this?” you ask, holding the flowers up until you see the small envelope attached to the hemp string holding the bunch together.
“A note,” Taehyung responds slowly as if he’s trying to decide if that’s all he’ll say. “Perhaps wait until we’re settled to read it?”
You finger the crisp fold of parchment, wondering. “Okay, yeah,” you agree, chalking it up to most likely being a grievance note from Taehyung, and it might be awkward for you to read it right now in front of him.
The cemetery typically closes at sundown, but Taehyung has access as the gardener. When he and Yejun took over Taehyung’s parents' floral shop, they expanded the business to include landscaping for local companies and establishments. The cemetery is one such establishment they took on. He produces a key from his pocket, unlocking the small pedestrian gate that must have been locked up not too long ago, judging by the sun barely having dipped below the horizon.
“Moojin left about ten minutes before you pulled up,” Taehyung explains casually, confirming the thought you just had. “It’ll just be us, so we can take as much time as we need.”
Maybe you should feel bad that Taehyung gives you preferential treatment and access to the cemetery after hours, but it’s hard to care about that when other, darker feelings have you clutched so tightly. The walk to the columbarium is relatively short, being one of the newer buildings erected within the grounds just some twenty years ago or so.
“The trees are doing well, even in the winter,” you note, nodding toward the row of young pines along the fence line. It was one of the last projects Yejun worked on with Taehyung before he became ill.
“He’d be able to tell you all the properties of the tree that make it sustainable during this time of the year,” Taehyung responds, his voice carrying notes of sadness. Yejun doesn’t come up much in conversation between the two of you, most things not needing to be said, merely understood without a spoken word. So, it’s surprising and endearing to actually hear Taehyung talk about him, especially now.
You smile, knowing he’s right. “With enough scientific jargon to make you go cross-eyed trying to keep up, too.”
That earns you a soft laugh from Taehyung. “And he wouldn’t even realize it until you’re so lost you can’t even pretend to have understood.”
“I miss that,” you whisper with a sigh, your warm breath misting lightly in the cold.
Taehyung slips his arm through yours, hooking his elbow around the crook of your arm. “Me, too.”
💔💔💔
Taehyung
It’s never easy, watching the way you suffer through your emotions. Taehyung knows you try to hide them, and sometimes you’re successful. But others…like right now, he can read you as clear as a bright spring sky. Only instead of pastel blues, pinks, and yellows, you’re a stark monochrome of Pantone grey. Just as clear, but decidedly less alive.
He hates it. Knowing just how vibrant of a person you once were. When Yejun left your life, so, too, did the color, it seems. Leeched away with the slow death of your husband. It’s a cruel fate, Taehyung has decided, and it’s one you never deserved. Yejun also knew this. He saw this in the way you mourned at his bedside, even before he was gone. It’s why Yejun made Taehyung promise to take care of you, to never let you forget how to smile.
As more time passes, Taehyung isn’t sure whether or not he’s done a good job by Yejun’s request. Not when the dark circles around your eyes seem to get more permanent every time Taehyung sees you. It’s why he brought the letter—the next letter. He’s curious if you remember the first one, the one that came the day of Yejun’s funeral; the one that had you crawling into Taehyung’s arms for the first time, seeking the comfort you knew was there.
That’s happened a few times in the two years since Yejun now. Any time you begin to fray at the edges and unravel a bit too quickly, Taehyung’s been there, weaving you back together the best he can. It might not be pretty, but a patchwork quilt is better than shredded rags, he likes to think. He hopes, at least.
“Are you warm enough?” Taehyung asks, realizing your arm is trembling around his. The jacket you’re wearing is far too thin, meant more for warding off spring rain showers than winter chills. Your lips are formed into a thin, bloodless line as if you’re trying to keep your teeth from chattering, and your brow is pinched.
The lift of your shoulder is subtle, dismissive and nonchalant. “I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not. Here,” Taehyung insists, pulling you to a halt on the walking path. “Take this.” He shrugs out of his jacket, draping it over the thinner trench you’re wearing over your sweater. You instantly relax, a soft sigh misting the air in front of your mouth.
“Thank you. I forget how cold it gets out here at night,” you mumble, encouraging Taehyung to continue walking toward the entrance to the columbarium, where Yejun’s memorial awaits. “Are you sure you’ll be okay without it?” Your eyes are round and glassy when you look up at him, the moonlight overhead reflecting in their depths.
The thick sweater Taehyung has on paired with his wool scarf is enough to stave off the wintery bite, but what warms him the most is seeing your eyes flash with a brief flicker of life when you snuggle into the depths of his jacket, bringing the tweed collar up around your neck after he assures you he’s fine without it.
Your feet shuffle, your stride slowing as you approach the columbarium. Taehyung can feel your hesitancy. The air around you is suffocating and full of static, something Taehyung wants desperately to help dispel.
“Come on. Together.” Taehyung offers you his hand, splaying his fingers wide in invitation. You lick your lips, eyes flicking between Taehyung’s face and his offered hand. Finally, you sag a little and slip your fingers in between his.
Your hand is soft and delicate in his. Taehyung has always admired your ability as an artist, being able to take your hands and a simple tool like a paintbrush and create something profound and breathtaking. Some might argue that what Taehyung does is also a form of art, but he swears it’s nothing compared to the pure magic you create. He’s found himself under your spell more than once, entranced by your art.
Even the works you’ve created in the last two years, the things you keep hidden away in your studio, are still quite beautiful—if more haunted. Taehyung knows you’re not selling any art and you haven’t hosted a gallery night in almost three years now. The few times he’s been inside your studio since Yejun, you’ve indulged his curiosity and let him look at the things you’ve worked on.
Taehyung cherishes those private moments you allow him within your space. He uses them as a time to reflect on what life has brought to you and to him. You have a shared experience of losing someone, but it’s clear you’re both working through your pain differently. Your studio, once a bright and vibrant space filled with inspiration and captured moments of love, is now more of a tomb, silent and full of the whisper of death.
Taehyung eases open the door to the columbarium. The motion-activated lights within flicker on and fill the space with a soft yellow glow. It’s better than the typical fluorescent white lights they used to use. Taehyung thinks the bright, sterile lighting is far too reminiscent of a morgue or hospital, not exactly places people should be reminded of when coming to visit their dead loved ones. So, he suggested the change when he took over doing the gardening for the cemetery.
Yejun’s niche is towards the back of the space, near the bottom. You separate yourself from Taehyung, letting the bundle of flowers droop upside down in your hand as you step lightly across the floor. You look like a specter, gliding across holy ground in search of what’s keeping you tied to this plane of existence. In many ways, Taehyung thinks that’s precisely what is happening with you. You’re suspended in time, stuck in a limbo of heartache.
In the two years since Yejun, you haven’t been able to move on, even though that’s exactly what Yejun wanted you to do. Yejun never wanted you to mourn him for long. He told Taehyung there was far too much love for you to give, and you had a heart big enough to love someone else while still holding true to Yejun. What Yejun failed to realize, Taehyung thinks, is that without Yejun, you didn’t want to love again.
Taehyung holds back a few steps, giving you some time to have a private moment as you kneel down in front of Yejun’s niche. The placard covering the niche is engraved with his name, birth and death dates, and a small metal frame that holds a glass engraved likeness of Yejun. It pains Taehyung to see the smiling face and crinkled eyes behind his wireframed glasses. Yejun was his brother in all ways, except for being born to the same parents. That didn’t matter to them, though—still doesn’t matter to Taehyung. They love—loved—each other just as fiercely as if they had been.
“Yejun,” you whimper his name, pressing a hand to the placard, head hanging low. Taehyung watches your shoulders shake with silent sobs, and he can’t take it anymore. He moves across the space and kneels down beside you, ignoring the cold that instantly leeches through the knees of his trousers. Before he can think better of it, he has his arms around you, trying to hold you together…trying to keep your seams from unraveling too fast.
Taehyung coos softly, murmuring as many words of encouragement and solace as can work past his quivering lips, “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. It’s going to be okay. I promise. He loved you so fiercely. I miss him, too. I’m here for you. Shh, it’s going to be okay.” Over and over again, Taehyung repeats it like a mantra until your sniffles subside, and you slump into his arms, feebly returning his embrace.
Feeling your arms around him is a comfort, one that helps him keep his own tears in check. “Thank you for being here,” you sniff before burying your face in his scarf and inhaling deeply.
“I’m always going to be here for you,” Taehyung offers, smoothing a hand over your hair in what he hopes is a soothing fashion. He watched Yejun console you enough times to have a good idea of what might help. After Sujin was born, you battled postpartum depression for a while, and Taehyung helped wherever he could, giving him those brief glimpses into your emotional turmoil. Yejun always petted your hair and let you ground yourself in his embrace. He never even had to say a word; just let you draw on his strength. So, Taehyung has always tried to emulate that for you whenever you’ve needed him.
You sigh, and Taehyung reluctantly lets you pull away to sit back on your heels. “I’m such a mess. I’m sorry.”
“Hey,” Taehyung says, capturing the side of your face in one of his hands. You sway on your knees; big, round, red-rimmed eyes locked onto his. “Never apologize to me. You’re human, not a mess. Okay?”
“Okay,” you whisper, lips barely moving. You slowly turn, sitting with your back against Yejun’s niche.
“Okay,” Taehyung repeats, and settles in beside you. He barely notices the cold this time as it seeps through the seat of his pants. There are far too many fierce emotions rolling through him to be bothered by the chill.
“Is it okay if I read this now?” you ask after several moments of shared silence.
Taehyung looks over at you, fingering the small envelope attached to the bundle of fresh flowers he brought. He swallows past the thick knot in his throat, worried about you reading it but knowing you need to. Perhaps it’ll be best read when he’s around and not in the solitude of your apartment where you could fall apart without someone there to catch you; Taehyung knows Sujin is staying at your mother’s tonight.
He clears his throat. “Uh, sure, yeah.”
“They really are beautiful,” you say, voice so soft it barely carries to Taehyung. You admire the flowers for a moment, and the anxiety Taehyung had earlier in the shop when he was wrapping them goes away. He was worried that he got the flowers wrong. He knew Yejun always brought you fresh flowers, different types for different occasions. Yejun was all about the spiritual and emotional meaning of flowers, something that Taehyung hardly paid any mind to until after.
Finally, you tug the end of the string that attaches the envelope to the flowers, and you set them to the side. The flap is tucked into the envelope, so you slide it out and remove the tri-folded parchment from within. It looks the same as it did the day Yejun gave it to Taehyung a few weeks before he died. It’s the same as all the other letters waiting in a box under Taehyung’s bed—waiting for the right moment, waiting for you.
“If you need a moment—” Taehyung begins to say, but you hold up a hand to silence him. Slowly, you unfold the paper and smooth it over your thighs. Your eyes flick over the paper, snatching on random words until they hit the name signed at the bottom.
“What is this?” you whisper, yet your voice cuts like steel. “Is this a cruel joke?” You hold the paper up for Taehyung to see. At the top, it reads ‘For if you haven’t moved on’. Taehyung can understand why you might think so.
“N-no. It’s…there’s…” Taehyung pauses and takes a deep breath before trying again. “It’s not a joke. It’s from Yejun.” The look of hurt that ghosts across your face brings a prickling heat behind Taehyung's eyes, and he has to blink them several times to hold his emotions at bay as he explains. “The letter I gave you after the funeral?” He waits until you give him a subtle nod. “This is another he gave me…along with many others.”
“Many others?” you ask, incredulity seeping into your tone.
“He wanted to leave you something, something more than just your memories and heartache. So, he spent a few weeks, before he got bad, writing letters to you. He gave them to me and made me promise I’d give them to you when the time was right. This one—” Taehyung nods toward the letter held between your fingers “—was one I wasn’t sure if I’d have to give you or not. It was one Yejun specifically said to only give you if…well, if you hadn’t started living life again.”
“Hadn’t started living life again?” You balk at that, rearing back from him with an angry look pinching your face.
Taehyung feels like he’s botching this, not explaining it properly to you or something. “Just, just please read it.” Taehyung has no idea what the letter says. He never wanted to invade Yejun’s and your privacy. He’s hoping, though, that maybe the letter might hold some key information to help you understand…to help ease your anger in a way that Taehyung’s words can’t seem to.
You stare at Taehyung for a moment, and he’s certain you’re about to spit in his face and leave him sitting here alone. But, you finally shake your head and sigh, settling back into place and focusing on the paper. Taehyung is sorely tempted to try and read over your shoulder, but he doesn’t want to further your ire. So, he slides a few inches away, opening up a wide, cold gap between the two of you…and waits.
💔💔💔
To the love of my life, For if you haven’t moved on
Hi, baby. I hope this is a letter Tae never has to give you, but if you’re reading this, then that means we’re not doing so well. I say ‘we’, because I’m still there with you. Just like I promised in my other letter. I told Tae to use his discretion on whether to ever give you this or not. He knows you nearly as well as I do, so I trust him. So, if you ever read this, know he doesn’t mean any harm by it…I don’t mean any harm by it. But, baby, you gotta start living again. At this point, I don’t know how much time will have passed since I had to go away, but I do know you can’t let much more time pass. I need you to live, my love. Live for me, live for Sujin…live for yourself. No more standing by while the world continues to spin, you have to spin with it, baby, let it carry you away, and on to better days. Please. Find something that makes you laugh, find something that makes you smile…even if it’s a someone. I know you’ll always love me. There is no doubt about that. But, don’t let that love stop you from living. Let someone in, let someone help…love again, for me. Show the world that it can’t tear you down. Go on a date, go skydiving, go to one of those fancy art galleries in Italy you used to fantasize about…just go, baby. Go and do, and be free. Don’t be afraid…please, don’t be afraid to live.
Love forever,
Your Yejun
The memory of the other letter, albeit a bit fuzzy, drifts through your mind as you sit and try to come to terms with how you feel at this moment. You absently trace the neat scrawl of Yejun’s handwriting covering the page. Don’t be afraid. Are you afraid? Is that it? You’ve never thought of it like that, in terms of being afraid to live. But, if you think about it, you suppose that’s the root of it. You are afraid. Afraid of moving on. What if you do find happiness? What if you do find someone else? Yejun is clear that he’s confident you’ll never forget him, but what if you do?
You don’t want to be sitting somewhere thirty years from now, with your head thrown back, laughing at the joke from some other guy, with Yejun having not crossed your mind in years. It’s not that you don’t want to be happy. You just…you don’t know.
Taehyung is sitting so quietly beside you that if you closed your eyes, you’d think you were alone. Guilt pricks against your heart at how badly you first reacted, the harsh tone and words you lashed at Taehyung where he didn’t deserve it. You clear your throat, drawing the flicker of Taehyung’s eyes in your direction.
“I’m sorry, Tae. I really am. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.” The words are thick on your tongue as you work through the emotions threatening to obliterate your existence. You think you might cry, but give yourself an imaginary pat on the back when you manage to maintain eye contact with Taehyung while successfully blinking back the tears.
Taehyung is quiet for a moment, a muscle in his jaw working, flexing the dark stubble you can see shadowing along his jawline. It’s in this moment that you feel like you see Taehyung in a new light, with added clarity. He looks haggard, tired. You didn’t notice it before, the sunken circles around his eyes or the lack of a clean shave…until now. It’s not fair, you realize, that he has taken care of you so much the last two years when you haven’t even so much as bothered to check on how he is doing.
You’re just about to break the silence with another feeble apology when he smiles, it’s faint, but it’s there. “You don’t need to apologize to me. Yejun and I might have shared a different kind of bond than what you two had, but I have at least an inkling of the keen sting you’re feeling, the one that never quite goes away no matter what you do.” He brings a hand up and presses it to the center of his chest. “The one that slices a little deeper after the sun goes down and everyone else has gone about their lives.”
Chilled goosebumps pop up along your arms, despite the warmth from the added layer of Taehyung’s jacket. That is exactly what it feels like, a lingering sting that won’t go away, one that grows when you’re alone.
You lick your trembling lips, tearing your gaze away from his and focusing back on the letter clutched in your hand. “Yejun,” you whisper. “He—he wants…he wants me to move on.” A soft sob catches in your throat. “But, I can’t do that. How can I do that?”
Your shoulders heave as the emotions you were able to hold at bay before come crashing through the walls you managed to put up. It’s not like the weeping from earlier. That was simply the quiet cries of a mourning wife. This is bone-deep, soul-rending agony that shakes your entire body.
Taehyung pulls you into his arms, and you press your face into the cushioning of his scarf and scream. The sound is muffled, but you can still hear it echoing through the columbarium when all the air finally empties from your lungs. You try to replenish the air, sucking in stilted breaths, but it’s not enough. Panic ensues, your heart launching into a heavy, staccato rhythm as if trying to pound right out of your chest.
“Hey, hey,” Taehyung soothes. “Slow down. Try to breathe slowly.” He pulls you firmly into his lap. You’re heedless to the intimate position your body falls into with your knees on either side of his hips. All you care about is getting air into your lungs. Taehyung holds you by the face, angling yours so you look up into his worried eyes. “Come on, slow. In…out…like that, come on, another one. In and then out.” He breathes with you, exaggerating the way he inhales air through his nose and pushes it back out through his mouth.
His warm breath puffs across your face with each exhale, carrying with it the faintest sharp tinge of mint and the earthy tones of tea. Something that instantly makes you think of home. It helps bring you back to reality, slowing your rampaging heart, and subsiding your shuddering cries.
“I can’t do it,” you mumble.
“You can. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
“No, no. You don’t—I can’t. It’s…it’s cold in here,” you whisper, pressing a trembling hand over your heart. “No one wants that.”
A soft, sad smile forms on Taehyung’s face as he continues to stare down at you. “Good thing that I know a thing or two about keeping things warm.” He drops his hands from your face and grabs the lapels of his jacket that’s still draped over your shoulders and gives it a tug, pulling it tighter around you. You can’t help but smile, even if it’s a watery one.
“What would I do without you?” you ask, not expecting Taehyung to answer.
“You’d make it.” He sounds so sure. “I know you would, you’d do it. But, I am glad to be here, to help however I can.”
Taehyung doesn’t urge you off of his lap, just allows you to rest there with your cheek pressed over his softly beating heart, finding whatever comfort you can from the proximity of another source of warmth. His words linger there, filling the space between you with a comfortability that you know you’ll never find anywhere else. You don’t say anything else, as there isn’t much else to say. At least, not words you think you could say out loud. Not here, not now.
But, an hour later, as you’re driving home, you decide to try. So, you do something you haven’t done in a while and turn on the radio, letting the music fill the silence from before. It’s a small step, but a step nonetheless; the first of—you hope—many.
The next morning, with the light of a new day spilling through the gap between your bedroom curtains, you decide you feel…good. As you lay in bed last night, full of revelations about how you’re going to start making steps toward Yejun’s desire for you to be happy again, worry began to set in. Worry over whether or not you can do this. Now, though, you feel decidedly different—light, in a way—as you push back the blankets and climb out of bed.
With your mom having taken Sujin to school this morning, it afforded you some time to sleep in, which is something you haven’t done in years. You weren’t sure you were going to, considering how poorly you’ve been sleeping the last couple of years. It feels nice, stretching your arms over your head and not feeling as groggy for once.
There is one thing you want to do before heading to the studio, where you know you’ll probably just piddle around until it’s time to pick up Sujin, but it’s just baby steps for now. It’s not lost on you that your work, the art you create, no matter if you manage to move on or not, might still be something that you’re never able to recover. Yejun wasn’t far off when he joked about being your one true muse, but you try to remain hopeful that you can surprise yourself.
The box in the back of the closet is exactly where you left it almost two years ago. It holds some of your most treasured possessions. Things you’ve held on to dating back as far as your teen years and as recent as two years ago. You kneel in the bottom of your closet and slide the box out from behind the stack of empty shoe boxes you can’t seem to toss out.
It’s a bit faded, the blue exterior, once a brilliant navy, is now more denim in color. You’ve had the box since you were a child, given to you by your father the summer before he split from your mom. That really hurt your family, when he cut himself out of the picture without so much as an apology; he ran off with another woman. It was so hard for you to believe in love after that.
Lifting the small silvered latch, you ease open the box lid and sigh as your eyes land on the folded paper nestled on top. Yejun’s first letter. It’s the last thing you put in this box. The paper still feels crisp in your fingers as you delicately pluck it out and unfold it. You worry at your bottom lip a moment before letting your eyes devour the same words you read once before.
This time, they don’t hurt nearly as much. You still feel that piercing ache, but it’s accompanied by another, fresher feeling—one of hope. What stands out the most, now, though, is the confirmation that there are other letters waiting for you. Yejun says as much himself in this letter, you just hadn’t ever put the dots together, too distracted in your grief.
There are endless possibilities for what those other letters might be for. But, what’s clear is that you won't get another one until you do something to deserve it. Knowing Yejun, you have a few ideas of what those things might be. There is a thrill but also a sense of trepidation as you think about that. You want to move on and be happy again, and in doing so, you know you’ll get the other letters, but there’s also that sense of overwhelming dread.
Where do you begin?
You spent most of your day rearranging and organizing supplies at the studio. But, now that the sun is beyond its zenith and casting longer shadows across your paint-marked studio floor, you feel like you’ve done nothing but waste time. You still haven’t decided where to begin with Yejun’s letters and you’re no closer to coming up with an idea for your next project either.
With frustration coloring your thoughts, you lock up and welcome the reprieve of going and picking Sujin up from school. That’s one part of your life that you do know up from down with.
As you pull through the pick up line, you don’t see Sujin anywhere out front. You spot Mrs. Min ushering a few students to their cars, her friendly face sporting a smile as she does so. Her eye catches yours and she holds up a hand, rushing over to your passenger side window.
“Hi!” she says when you roll it down. “So glad I caught you before you waited too long. Sujin volunteered to help Mr. Kim with his terrarium and it’s taking a bit longer than expected. He should be out in the next fifteen minutes or so, feel free to park in the teacher’s lot or you can wait here if you’d like.”
“Mrs. Min!” a rambunctious gaggle of students call her name, requesting her assistance.
She gives you an apologetic look. “Sorry, duty calls. He shouldn’t be too long!” she calls over her shoulder as she jogs towards the cluster of students beckoning her over. One of the kids has what appears to be a large diorama that they’re having a hard time carrying to their car, even with the assistance of their friends.
“Well, great,” you mumble to yourself, checking your rearview mirror and seeing a long line of cars waiting behind you.
Pulling ahead, you slip around the side of the school and pull into one of the empty teacher spots and cut the engine. You haven’t been inside the school since the parent-teacher meeting at the beginning of the year, so it wouldn’t hurt if you went inside now, it would give you a chance to peek into Sujin’s classrooms and see what he’s been up to. If it’s one thing he loves, it’s learning.
Mr. Kim and Mrs. Min have adjoining classrooms at the end of the hall for Sujin’s grade, a storage and supply closet connecting the two rooms. The door to Mrs. Min’s room is closed but the light is still on inside. You take a quick peek through the view window on the door and see colorful drawings and paper projects hanging on the wall, books scattered across a few tables, and a large container of art supplies opened on her desk. She teaches English, Reading, Art, and History while Namjoon covers Math and Science.
The gym teacher, Mr. Jeon, startles you as he breezes through the double doors at the end of the hall that lead out to the playground. “Oh, hey! Sujin, your mom is here!” he calls, stepping back and propping the door open with the heel of his sneaker.
“Mom!” you hear Sujin’s voice sound from through the open door. “You gotta come see this!”
Mr. Jeon holds the door open for you, his face lit with a pleasant smile. “A future scientist, I’d bet,” Mr. Jeon stage-whispers as you pass him and that makes your own smile blossom further.
“What’s going on, buddy?” you ask, taking in the scene before you.
Namjoon is crouched down beside Sujin, helping him sort through a collection of rocks spread out on a sheet of plastic. There are dozens of them, all various shapes and colors.
Sujin excitedly points out a few of the large rocks. “These would be perfect to create a hiding space!” he loudly proclaims before turning his bright eyes up to you. “Mr. Kim is letting me help him choose the rocks to go into the terrarium. We’re going to get our very own class salamander! Isn’t that cool, Mom? A class dragon!”
A soft chuckle comes from Namjoon as he pivots on his heels and squints up at you, the sun catching on the thick-framed glasses that are slipping down his nose. “We had so much fun yesterday talking about the salamander that was brought into Mrs. Min’s class that I couldn’t resist. I’ve had this old aquarium sitting in my garage for years, it just seems perfect.”
“Wow, yeah, that’s really cool.”
“Sorry for keeping him,” Namjoon suddenly stands, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking contrite. “I didn’t realize the bell had rung until Jungkook said something.” He turns to Sujin who is happily stacking a few of the smaller rocks into a pile. “I think that’s all for today, Sujin. We’ll finish it up tomorrow during class.”
Sujin frowns, his warm brown eyes flicking to Namjoon. “Okay,” he sighs.
“I tell you what, for all your hard work today, how about I let you be creative director during assembly tomorrow? Does that sound okay?”
The frown is quickly replaced with another excited smile. Sujin gives a whoop of delight and slaps his hands together before dusting them off. “Thank you, Mr. Kim, that sounds amazing!”
Seeing the interaction between Namjoon and Sujin gives you an idea, one that you hope you won’t regret. “Go grab your backpack, buddy, I’ll meet you outside Mrs. Min’s room in a second.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Sujin pulls open the door and scampers through, his sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor as he skips down the hall.
“Thank you for that, Namjoon, really. He was so excited about what happened yesterday and now this? He’s been wanting a turtle for a year now, so this will be a good test on whether or not we should get one.”
Namjoon pulls one of his hands out of his pocket and grips the back of his neck as he smiles shyly, his cheeks pinking slightly. “He’s a great kid, loves to learn. Though, turtles are a bit more needy than salamanders. It would also depend on the type of turtle. The standard box turtles are…” Namjoon trails off, his brow pinching as he throws furtive glances your way. “Sorry, you didn’t ask for a science lesson.”
That makes you laugh, which seems to ease the awkward tension in Namjoon. “Sujin isn’t the only one that likes learning.” You don’t intend the words to sound flirty, but they come out that way and you can distinctly tell that Namjoon keys into that.
“Yeah?” he asks, the shyness leeching away by the second.
“Um, yeah. Er, well, I should—” you jerk your thumb over your shoulder toward the door “—Sujin is probably waiting.”
“Oh, yeah, of course.” Namjoon sidesteps over the plastic sheet of rocks and fumbles with the door handle before yanking it open. “Have a good—”
“Are you free Friday night?” you blurt, wincing at the rudeness of interrupting him but knowing if you don’t ask now then you’ll lose your nerve.
“Friday?” he parrots back, eyes wide behind his glasses.
Panic slices through and you immediately want to take it back. “Sorry, that was—I didn’t, it’s not appropriate is it? I’m so sor—”
“I’m free,” he states, the words silencing your backpedaling.
“Oh.” Now that he’s confirmed, you’re not sure what else to say. It’s been so long since you’ve done this.
“Is there something you wanted to do?” Namjoon asks hesitantly, clearly picking up on your trepidation.
You swallow around the choking feeling in your throat, the one that’s ingrained with the idea that you’re still married and still madly in love with another man and this is akin to cheating. “Maybe dinner? Or a late coffee? Um, or…I’m sorry, it’s been so long since I’ve done this.”
Namjoon gives you an easy smile. “Dinner sounds great. Let’s say, seven?”
“Seven is good. How about that new pizza place that opened up near the park, do you know the one?”
“I’ve had my eye on that place for weeks! That sounds perfect.”
Are you really going on a date…with Sujin’s Science teacher? “Okay,” you say, chewing the inside of your cheek as you take a few steps down the hall. “Great.”
“Great,” Namjoon confirms with a smile, his deep dimples making an appearance. “See you then.”
All you can do is nod, not trusting yourself with any more words with the influx of emotions now swirling through you. Sujin bursts through Mrs. Min’s door, his backpack and lunchbox in tow.
“Let’s go!” he trumpets, thrusting his free hand into the air in a fist. “I’ve got some homework to do before I can work on my diagram for the terrarium!”
Namjoon’s soft chuckle carries to you from down the hall as you usher Sujin towards the exit. You can’t help casting one last glance behind you, taking in the way he’s lazily leaning against the doorframe of his classroom. He’s quite handsome, there’s no arguing that.
A giddy feeling adds itself to the uncertain emotions rolling through you. A fluttering in your tummy that you haven’t felt in over seven years. You can’t help but wonder, as you load Sujin into the car, if this is really what Yejun wants for you or are you making a mistake?
💔💔💔
Taehyung
It’s a weird sensation when you expect to feel one emotion but end up feeling another. That’s what Taehyung thinks anyway, as he reads the text message he received from you for the dozenth time. You have a date. With Namjoon.
Taehyung has never met the quirky Science teacher, but he’s heard plenty of stories about him from Sujin. Charming, educated, and completely and utterly perfect for you. And that should make Taehyung happy. Yet, all he can feel is mild annoyance when he thinks about Namjoon sitting across from you at a dinner table making you laugh and smile.
He wants to chalk it up to being overprotective in a brotherly sort of way, but Taehyung knows better. It’s no secret—well maybe it is to you—that Taehyung cares for you deeply. Even before Yejun, Taehyung always had a soft spot for his best friend’s wife. Something that he drunkenly confessed to Yejun once a few years ago. Yejun took it goodnaturedly, something that Taehyung still thinks about to this day, and simply told Taehyung he understood the attraction because hell, who could blame him?
They never talked about it again, until the day Yejun asked Taehyung to take care of you and Sujin—the day he was given a box of letters addressed to you. Yejun had given Taehyung a knowing smile and said something along the lines of fate knowing and that’s why Taehyung already had so much love for you.
He wasn’t sure, at first, if Yejun had ever shared Taehyung’s little secret with you. But, as time went on, it was clear that he hadn’t. That, or, so lost in your grief, you’ve been keenly uninterested in that prospect. But, now, you’re going on a date and Taehyung doesn’t know how to feel about it.
The twinge of jealousy in his chest doesn’t sit right with him. He has no right to feel this way. It’s just something that he can’t seem to shake, hasn’t been able to since you told him about it two days ago. So, instead of expressing that, he forces himself to try and share in your joy.
That’s great. Let me know when you’re home, I have something for you.
A letter perhaps??
Your eager reply makes him smile despite himself. If anything, that helps his mood to improve. The ‘first date’ letter is already sitting on his counter, waiting.
Perhaps. Now stop texting me and go have fun.
There is no reply to that. So, Taehyung waits patiently, phone in hand. Hours pass in a mindless, sluggish way. He’s far too wound up to do anything productive but also has nervous energy that needs to be released. So, Taehyung spends the four hours it takes for you to finally respond by squeaking out haphazard notes on the alto saxophone he’s taken to trying to learn to play.
His phone lights up where it sits on the coffee table and he nearly drops the instrument in his haste to snatch up the device.
I’m home.
That’s all it says and it makes Taehyung frown. Not that he expected you to tell him how the date went over text message, but he was anticipating something more than just those two words. He is startled to realize just how late it is, though, being past eleven already.
Is it too late? I can always just swing by tomorrow.
Sujin is staying with mom. It’s not too late.
Taehyung is contemplating his reply when another text from you pops up that makes him drop everything else and grab his car keys, not caring it’ll be close to midnight by the time he pulls up outside your apartment. It was a knee-jerk reaction to also grab the letter that was sitting beside his keys, but now he’s thinking about whether or not it’s a good idea.
Those thoughts quickly fade as he focuses on the road, intent on reaching your apartment in record time. His phone sits on the passenger seat, still open to your text thread, the single word might as well be an alarm blaring to Taehyung, urging him on faster.
Please.
💔💔💔
As soon as you send the last text message you want to take it back. Not only do you feel whiny, but you know Taehyung will drop everything and come over which makes you feel terrible and like you’re using him.
But, fuck. The date was so horrible all you want to do is crawl into familiar, comforting arms and cry yourself to sleep. You’re about to pour your third glass of wine when there is a sudden knock on the door, followed by it swinging open. Taehyung stands there with your spare key in his hand, eyes wide with concern.
“Are you okay?” he asks, breathless as he clearly sprinted up the stairs to get here and now you feel infinitely worse for it.
You shake your head which earns you a pained sound from Taehyung but you hold up your hand, silencing him. “I’m not shaking my head no as in no I’m not fine, it’s more a I’m such a fool head shake. I’m sorry, Tae. I’m fine. I shouldn’t have said anything, I just—”
“I’m glad you said something. What happened? Do I need to go pay a certain science teacher a visit?” For all his bravado, you know he wouldn’t hesitate if you said yes.
“No, no. It’s not his fault. Well, not entirely. Look, I’m sorry you drove all the way over here.” You discard the empty wine glass in favor of taking a large glug directly from the bottle.
“Hey, hey,” Taehyung says, deftly taking the bottle from your hands before you have the chance to take a second gulp from it. “Stop apologizing and tell me what’s wrong.”
“It was a fucking disaster.”
If Taehyung is surprised by your cussing, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he stills beside you, brow slowly pinching and forming deep furrows between them. “Did he hurt you?” he whispers, but his tone is cold and hard. “I’ll kill him.”
“What? What, oh no, Tae, no. He didn’t hurt me, god no.” You sigh, propping your hip against the lip of the counter and wrapping your arms around your middle. “He was lovely, actually. I was the disaster. Or maybe we were. I don’t know, it was just a terrible night. A terrible idea.”
“Talk to me about it,” Taehyung encourages, his hands landing lightly on your shoulders to steer you toward the couch in the living room.
So, you spend the next hour recounting all the horrid details for him. Everything from the way Namjoon wouldn’t stop talking about rocks and mineralized dirt to the way he tried to kiss you at the end of the night only for you to duck and him to lose his balance, effectively making him face plant into the brick wall of your apartment building.
“See, it was a terrible idea,” you lament, letting out a frustrated sigh.
Taehyung hums softly. “It doesn’t sound like a complete disaster to me. Namjoon was polite, even if he did nothing but talk about his own interests. Did you try changing the subject, or did he ask about you and you gave a dismissive answer?” You give Taehyung an annoyed look. “I’m just saying, you have the tendency to avoid things like that. So, it’s only meant as a means to try and understand. Maybe it can be better next time.”
“There won’t be a next time.” You throw up your hands in defeat. “He said he had a lovely time, but I could see it plain on his face, he was just trying to be nice. He left with a bloody napkin pressed against his mouth for crying out loud!”
“Well, maybe he really—”
“But, most of all,” you continue, speaking over Taehyung, “I didn’t have a good time. I don’t want to do it again. It didn’t make me happy.”
That seems to subdue Taehyung. “Oh,” he says, nodding slowly. “Well, okay, that’s different.”
“I’m broken, defective.”
Taehyung scoffs, giving you a withering look a moment before dragging you into his arms, squeezing you tightly. “You’re not defective. You’re human. All this proves is that maybe the science teacher isn’t the guy for you. Simply just a lack of…chemistry.”
You can’t help but laugh at his bad joke. “You’re terrible,” you say in a lighter tone, meant to tease more than chastise. “But, you’re right, I guess. I just…this was the first date I’ve been on in a long time and it all went so horribly. It’s hard not to think that I somehow messed up, that I’m just…not right, just broken, y’know?” Taehyung’s eyes are soft as you look up at him, trying hard not to let yourself grow too accustomed to the comforting feel of his arms around your shoulders.
“You are perfect, most certainly not broken,” he whispers. You watch from beneath your lashes as a small crease etches across his forehead and you can tell he’s warring with himself over something before he slowly presses a soft kiss against the side of your head. “You just have to give yourself grace. I’m proud of you.” As he says that last part, he gently pulls back, hands resting on your shoulders. His right hand trails down your arm and you feel the soft caress of paper against the back of your hand. “Yejun would be proud of you, too, taking as big of a step as you have, I just know it.”
The envelope is small, but you instantly recognize the shape and feel of the paper. It’s just like the one you got earlier this week—like the one from two years ago. “Should I wait to read it?” you ask, not really expecting an answer.
“I’ll leave if you’d like some privacy.”
And in that moment you realize that’s the last thing you want. “No, please stay. Umm, that is, unless you have something to do.” It’s after midnight, the sour twist of jealousy rears as you think of everything that could possibly take Taehyung away at this hour. You tamp it down, knowing you have no right to keep him here, regardless. “I’m okay, I promise.”
Taehyung’s lip twitches as you wait for him to answer. He shakes his head. “No, I have nothing else to do. I can’t promise I won’t end up crashing on your couch, though,” he says, stifling a yawn in his elbow before lacing his fingers behind his head and stretching out. “I’m here as long as you need me.”
“Thank you,” you whisper, grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch and spreading it out over Taehyung’s legs before curling up on the opposite end of the couch. Taehyung shifts around the blanket with his feet, making sure the other end covers your legs as well.
“Don’t have to thank me,” he sighs sleepily. “I just want to make you happy.”
You’re not sure if he misspoke, because surely he meant only that he wants to see you happy. Because, as it is, him saying he wants to make you happy…well, that does something funny to you. Though, you can probably blame that on the terrible date with Namjoon or the half a bottle of wine you drank. Either way, you can’t help but smile as you look at Taehyung laying on the other end of your couch, eyes closed, and chest rising and falling with deep, even breathing.
You take a moment, running back over the date with Namjoon in your head, fingers idly moving along the edge of the envelope. It started out so nicely, Namjoon standing outside your apartment with a bouquet of flowers. They made your nose itch and your eyes water a bit from how overly fragrant they were—clearly some mass grown clippings from a supermarket—but you smiled anyway, appreciating the gesture.
Dinner was lovely, the new restaurant proving to be worth the drive and money spent. It’s perhaps your own fault for thinking Namjoon might pay for the meal and it didn’t hurt you any to pay for your own, but it felt oddly…impersonal? Less like a date and more like a business meeting or something. You’re not too old to be naive in the sense that women are just as capable of paying for dinner as men, as well as the fact that men shouldn’t hold the complete burden of expense on dates. It’s just…it was unusual and he didn’t even bring it up, simply told the waiter to split the check before it was brought.
It’s not helped by the fact that Namjoon wouldn’t stop talking about work or soil deposits. And perhaps Taehyung was at least half right in the fact that you didn’t put forth a lot of effort to change the subject, but the way you see it, if Namjoon was interested in knowing about you, he would have asked. Though, is that expecting too much? Are you being too harsh? Maybe you’re projecting and Namjoon really wasn’t that bad.
Before you can continue to spiral any further, you force your thoughts to the letter in your hand. Hoping it’ll put your ill heart at ease, you extract the folded parchment and smooth it out.
To the love of my life, For after your first date
Hi, baby. First, I want to say that I love you. Second, I hope he at least made you smile. If he didn’t bring you flowers or even those cheap ones from the supermarket, don’t think too much of it. I’ll let you in on a little guy secret, not all of us are well versed on flora and even less so on women. Even if it didn’t go so well, though I hope it did, you can’t give up. Go on another date, with the same person or someone else, you just can’t stop now. Take as many adventures as you can, do something spontaneous. You never did take that dance class you wanted to a few years ago. Paint, travel, explore the world. Take Sujin to places we never got to go. Just don’t stop, keep turning, even if it’s slowly.
I’m so proud of you, you know? No matter what, I know you’re going to be okay. You’re going to make it. I can’t wait to see all you do. You’re going to be wonderful. You’re amazing, keep shining, baby. I love you so much.
Forever With You,
Your Yejun
Tucking the letter against your heart, you snuggle down in the couch, mind racing. You feel lighter somehow, like Yejun’s words have given you far more affirmation than you thought possible. The terrible date doesn’t seem so disastrous now.
“You okay?”
You startle at the soft question, thinking Taehyung was fast asleep. His eyes are barely cracked open, peering at you over his bent, blanket-covered knees.
“Mm, yeah. I think so,” you say after clearing your throat.
“Good…good,” Taehyung murmurs, his eyes falling shut once more.
“Hey, Tae?”
“Hmm?” His eyebrows raise but he doesn’t open his eyes. You take a moment to truly see him, the soft light from the stand lamp on the other side of the room illuminating him in profile. The soft curve of his cheek, the delicate slope of his nose, and the pouty bow of his lips aren’t new features, but you’re not sure you’ve ever truly paid attention to how breathtakingly handsome he is.
“Will you help me?”
Taehyung’s lips twitch as a mild frown turns down his lips. “Help you?”
“With whatever comes next.”
“Whatever you need, I’m yours,” he mumbles, a soft smile replacing his frown. You watch him for a moment longer, his lips going even softer as the smile fades with sleep. His chest rises and falls, your eyes tracking the motion in the dim lighting until you feel the pull of sleep yourself. Taehyung is the last thing you see before you close your eyes, and for the first time in over two years, you sleep peacefully; with a subtle warmth blooming in your chest where once there was only cold.
Next Chapter⇾ (coming soon!)
◅ Back to story masterlist
◅ Back to Main Master List
©️ 2024-03-18 ColorMePurplex2
#taehyung x reader#bts taehyung#taehyung smut#taehyung angst#taehyung fluff#taehyung fanfic#taehyung imagines#bts fanfic#bts smut#bts angst#bts fluff#kim taehyung#bts non idol au#bts imagines#bangtanwhq
93 notes
·
View notes
Text
kill bill
notes: i think our favorite vampiric princess is in order for valentine’s season. hope u enjoy.
pov: alexis solaire — first person limited
pairings: past relationship(?) with alexis/sam, present relationship with darlin’/sam
word count: 2.2k
ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46534081
!! TWs {these begin under the cut} !! unhealthy obsession, physical threats, aggressive language, and graphic imagery. please proceed with caution or do not interact with this work if these topics r triggering for u.
reblogs r v much appreciated!
Time is cruel to those who go against its laws, but it's even crueler to those who follow them.
Time has always been something to rival against—a force that dares test the permanency of the Solaire name. Like all things who attempt the same feat, it is crushed into dust, and Solaire blood reigns victorious once again.
It’s a vicious cycle, but it’s one that’s kept us at the top—crimson crowns spilling red onto those beneath it. It can be ugly, even tragic, but it’s worth it. It’s power—indescribable power.
But it’s a lonely game between us, immortality and I. Eternity is kind to no man, to no creature of the night, and I, a Solaire, am no exception. A night of forever endlessly stretches out in front of me, a path I must travel alone.
Or so I thought.
Sam Collins was something more than the immortal night I was damned to. He was the moon, the stars, that lit up the dark blanket of sky who smothered me in its hold. He was always more than immortality or power—he was alive.
Maybe it was the drumming of his heartbeat in his chest or the way his cheeks flushed rose in the summer sun, but Sam Collins exuded life. He was vitality itself, a man who radiated it whenever he walked into a room. He was the true definition of human.
That’s what drew me to him. His humanity reminded me of the life I had lived so many years ago, those memories now forever captured in this perfect man. A gentleman with a heart of gold, but one who let close to none see it.
I was one of the lucky few.
I was falling—drowning in the river that was him. From his warmth to his touch, he invaded every aspect of my being, and I found myself hooked. Suddenly I saw a brighter future ahead, a future where someone would lead me through the night. I found my own northern star—he was Polaris, and I was the once-lost traveler.
But then his light started to dim. Precession began and suddenly the earth wobbled beneath my feet and Polaris was no more. He laid limp in my arms, fallen from the sky into my lap with a car door lodged in his abdomen. My vision stained red, the moon now blurry, and the future I saw now nothing but a faded fantasy.
I thought of the solution—I found a way to restore the life that had once pulsed through his veins. It’d be different, he’d be different, but he’d still be the same Sam. He’d still be my Sam.
My nails in his skin, his eyes locked on mine, and then my teeth in his throat. I hadn’t ever bitten him before—he said he hadn’t wanted that, so I listened. It was different now, though. He needed this, even when he pushed my hands away and begged me to stop.
My blood then dripped into his mouth, and it was complete. The golden glow of Polaris now shone silver, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t care. Sam Collins was alive, even if his heartbeat had slowed to an eternal flatline.
He didn’t understand.
One who had once fallen asleep in my arms now refused to even be in the same room. One who used to kiss me good night and walk me home now couldn’t bear to look at me. One whose heart I thought was mine now claimed I was dead to him.
I thought it was a phase. Bloodlust’s bitterness, or whatever you’d wish to call it. I pictured him coming back to me when it was over—that same crooked smile looking down at me, just with canines a little pointier.
But then the days stretched into weeks, then months, and then sooner than I realized, his bloodlust was over and the silent treatment showed no sign of stopping. He continued to avoid me like some foreign plague, but I still watched him, still thinking about the day he’d come running back to me.
The day hasn’t come.
Not yet, anyway.
That first year turned into two, then five, and ten and then fifteen years had gone by without a single look in my direction. Even if our progeny-maker thread had been cut, I could feel his change in breathing whenever I entered the room. The nervousness in it, the tension.
The pure, unbridled fear.
I was now the creature lurking in the shadows, the monster hiding underneath his childhood bed. The leviathan with fangs dripping crimson.
All hope was not lost, though. The moonlight still shone through the end of the tunnel, and I was patient. He would find his forgiveness eventually—Sam Collins is a good man, and good men know how to forgive.
That hope stood strong until I started to see the beginnings of the oncoming dawn.
This dawn made their grand debut at a monthly clan meeting in the shape of a wolf. A damned creation with scars slashed across their skin, beginning right underneath their jaw and wrapping around their arms, torso, and legs.
One of Sam’s flannels wrapped snug around their frame.
I watched them, my knees pressed to my chest as I sat on the stairs. I watched Sam’s hand rest on the small of their back, and I watched the way they leaned into him. I watched the kiss they placed on his cheek in greeting, and I watched the tilted shy smile he gave in return.
I watched all of it. I saw everything.
Ten minutes after my vigil began, Sam left them with a kiss on their forehead to speak with Vincent and William. They now stood alone on the right side of the room, their hands fiddling with the cuff of Sam’s shirt.
They must’ve detected me watching them when their gaze quickly shifted in my direction. I didn’t stop watching—I simply stared back. Their eyes were wide and curious before they crinkled into a small smile.
They waved.
They had no idea who I was.
All they knew was that someone in this wide room of vampires had done something ‘dreadful’ to their mate, something ‘unforgivable’. As far as they knew right now, everyone was innocent—everyone was a smiling face welcoming them into this clan with open arms.
How wrong they were.
I didn’t smile, nor did I wave back. Their smile faded slowly, and they dropped their arm and turned away.
Good. Pathetic chew toys are to be crushed ‘neath a Solaire’s marble heel, not given allowance to make eye contact, let alone smile.
I stood up from my perch on the stairs and walked away. I went past where Vincent, William, and Sam were speaking to one another, and like the past fifteen wretched years, I noticed the muscles in Sam’s arms tense and I saw his fists clench. His back straightened, and he became terrifically still when I walked by.
I paused, then turned to the mutt. Did they notice how Sam had reacted to my presence? Did they see how his posture changed? Did they notice the half-inch that his brows furrowed inward? Did they see it? Did they see him?
When I examined the expression on their face, I knew that they did.
The small smile that had tugged at their soft features had now completely dissipated—their mouth was pressed into a hard, straight line. Their eyes, once liquid sun in the light of the full moon, had frozen solid.
Resentment was in their eyes.
And protectiveness. As expected from a dog.
All wolves are the same—they bark, they bite, and then they die. One by one, they shrivel up and fall. It’s just nature.
I used to feel a sort of sympathy for them, us both being moonbound. I felt a kindred spirit in a way.
Not anymore.
The thing with the mutt was that they would not last. They had a few measly, troubled decades in this world while I had until the end of time.
I had eternity—they had a ticking clock.
There is no room in this world for immature vagabonds with a pension for death. There is no room for wolves who are fatally tied to their own mortality.
They will die eventually, and the Solaire blood will reign victorious. I will wear my crown again.
I went to stand beside the wall, watching once again when Sam made their way back to them. They jumped up to kiss his cheek again. I gagged.
Over the course of the night, I watched them. I saw when they both sat down for the clan meeting to begin. They never stopped touching for the entire night.
I wanted to crawl out of my skin.
If his hand wasn’t against their thigh, then his arm wrapped around their shoulder. If they weren’t leaning against him, then their hand closed over his.
Nauseating, disgusting, vile, obscene—there were a million words in the world to describe the scene playing out before me, but none of them quite held the venom I wanted.
The hour-long meeting seemed to drag on into oblivion until William finally dismissed the clan, a good natured smile warming his eyes as he bid us good night. I got up from my seat and began to stalk towards the door, my coat tucked under my arm.
I didn’t get very far when I heard a voice behind me. “Something tells me that staring at Sam’s partner like a tiger about to pounce isn’t gonna make him hate you less.”
Vincent. I stopped and turned around, but I stayed silent. His arms were crossed over his chest, his glare disapproving as it bore into me.
I took a deep breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Vincent.”
“Tch,” he huffed, “I’m not stupid. Do you think I am?”
I didn’t answer that.
Vincent continued, “It wasn’t just me who noticed, Alexis. I heard them whispering to Sam about it during the meeting. You’re making them uncomfortable.”
“I don’t care.”
His eyes narrowed. “Fine, then. It’s making Sam uncomfortable.”
“You’re saying that to get me to care about their feelings.”
“And what if I am?” He asked, “He’s the only thing that gets through to you anymore.”
I paused. “…Does it really make him uncomfortable?”
He nodded. Silence fell over us.
He broke it. “So you’ll stop?”
I couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’ll try.”
Silence again.
Vincent leaned on the railing of the stairs. “You need to get over him.”
“I don’t need anything,” I growled.
“Yes, you do,” he countered, “It was different when he was single. You could chase after him all you want—he could handle the staring when it was only directed at him—but it’s not like that anymore.”
I braced myself. I knew what was coming.
“He’s with someone now,” he continued, “They’re mates, Alexis, and you know what?”
“What?” I whispered.
“He’s happy,” he said, “He’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him. Maybe you would’ve noticed the change in him if you weren’t so stuck in your own head all of the time, but he’s content now. He smiles. A lot. And he laughs. A lot. He didn’t do that much before.”
Another pause. I started to curl into myself.
“He loves them, Alexis.”
There it was.
The arrow through the Achilles’ heel, a wooden stake piercing my stone heart. Sunlight burned through my flesh until nothing was left but a pile of unlovable ash, blown away in the winter wind.
I didn’t realize how hard I was gripping my coat until my fingers stabbed through the fabric.
I looked up at Vincent. “Say that again, and your tongue will be shoved so far down your throat you’ll be dead before you hit the floor.”
I didn’t wait for his reaction. I turned on my heel and swept through the meeting room’s double doors, ignoring his angry shouts. They were static now.
I made my way around the building, hoping to find my car before I shattered my keys when I saw the two of them in the parking lot.
The mutt had a bundle of flowers in their arms, the bouquet tied together neatly with a red ribbon. They held a card decorated with hearts in their left hand.
Valentine’s Day. How could I forget?
They gazed with awe at the card and flowers, and the brightest smile lit their adoring features.
I could almost see the stupid fucking halo.
Sam rubbed the back of his neck with his palm, a gesture he always did when he was bashful.
It was sickening.
I stared at the bouquet.
There were roses in it.
I looked back up at Sam.
I wondered what I could do with those thorns.
My imagination began to run wild. I imagined snatching the roses from their bouquet and sinking the sharp thorns into Sam’s throat, dragging them through his skin while they tore him open. He’d fall to the ground, his hands around his neck, and his wide, too human-like eyes would beg for help. The dog would scream and scream and scream and I’d scream too, relishing in the noise, and my vision would bleed red just like it did fifteen years ago.
They’d call for help, but no one would come. The hours would tick by and the sun would soon rise. I’d watch from the shadows as Sam’s corpse burned to ash instead. He was the forgotten one now.
The asphalt would bleed red too.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
#redacted asmr#redacted audio#redactedverse#redacted alexis#redacted asmr alexis#redacted audio alexis#redacted sam#redacted asmr sam#redacted audio sam#redacted darlin#redacted asmr darlin#redacted audio darlin#redacted solaire clan#redacted fanfic#honeyglass’s handwritings
59 notes
·
View notes
Text
SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL
Chapter 00 / Broadway Baby
Love Astor was born in 1951 and raised in New York, New York. The daughter of Robert 'Robbie' Astor, the business mogul, and June Koch, the film star. As a child, Love made a name for herself on Broadway, but as a teenager, she delved into the world of rock 'n' roll.
LILIAN WILLIAMS (former acting coach, the Williams School of Musical Theatre): Oh, yeah, I remember Love Astor.
We met for the first time in ‘55, probably. ‘56 at the latest. Into the school came her mother, June (Koch), dressed to the nines. Think Jackie Kennedy. There’s no way that woman wasn’t going for the First Lady look. Honestly, you might have mistaken her for a politician’s wife rather than an actress. At her side was this beautiful little girl. “This is my daughter, Love,” June said, nodding to her look alike. Love, like her mother, had this long, thick black hair that fell all the way down her back. Her eyes were this stunning sea green color. To this day, they still remind me of the beach. And her cheekbones were sharp, so sharp the rich pay to have theirs come even remotely close.
“What can I do for you, June?” I asked, expecting her to request more lessons for herself, but no. Imagine my surprise when she said, “Love here has the potential to be a great singer, but she needs to be trained. You could help refine her voice, could help turn her potential into skill.”
It came as a surprise, because Love was so young at that point, no older than four. Most children start theatre training between six and eight, but June wanted her children to be like her and Robbie: extraordinary. Usually, I’d refuse to train a child that young, but then June had Love sing one of Judy Garland’s songs. “Over the Rainbow,” if memory serves, and her delivery was smooth, polished. I thought, This kid is going to be somebody when she’s older, and I . . . I want to play a part in making her somebody.
So we started training, and by the mid ‘60s, she was getting casted on Broadway. Playing a part in Camelot, Fiddler on the Roof, Dames at Sea, and Cabaret. A few of the parts were written for older women, but the ‘60s were a different time. No one batted an eye at a teenage girl being cast as a woman. And Love, she put everything she had into each and every part, earning her the love and attention of many. Hell, not even critics had anything bad to say about her . . . until her brother died.
─── ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ───
On December 1, 1969, the U.S. Selective Service System conducted a lottery to determine the draft order for 1970. Stephen Astro, born March 14, 1949, was assigned lottery number 12.
LOVE ASTOR (singer, Daisy Jones & The Six): For the first eighteen years of my life, I lived at the whims of my mother. “Sing, Love. Eat better. Try harder at school,” she commanded, and I would without hesitation or reserve, because I had been made into a sponge, made to take in whatever orders she wanted. Then, my brother, my dearest friend in the whole world, got drafted, and it changed things. Stephen promised that he would return from Vietnam, that he’d be back before we even realized he was gone, but that was a lie. For eight months, there was radio silence, then word came that he died in Laos.
There was no body, so we buried an empty casket. And that . . . that broke me. I couldn’t bear the thought of him forever being lost, so I looked for something to quiet my mind, to numb the pain. That led me not only to the rock scene but to everything that came with it — drugs, alcohol, sex, and everything in between.
DALE WRIGHT (former bouncer, The Blue Room): I worked at The Blue Room from 1969 to 1974. It was a real sketchy club, bringing in folks from the seediest pockets of the boroughs, but goddamn was there good music. It (the music) drew in tons of better-off folks whose names I don’t remember, but I remember Love Astor. The first time I saw her, I was kicking out a junkie and in walks this bright-eyed, super skinny girl. She had the longest hair I’ve ever seen, and it was tied into some odd braid about her head. Her smile too . . . her smile was something else. It made you feel like you were the only person in the world. She was with some guy who was probably three times her age. He looked at her like she’d hung the moon, but she shed him by the end of the night and left on the arm of a roadie.
After that first time, she started coming in more and more. Four or five times a week, and each time, she’s make it a habit to talk to me and the rest of the club staff, to get to know us. Love was a real people person, you see. She was always happy, and wanted those around her to be happy, too. There was an innocence to her, a naïveté, which was why I made sure to keep an eye out for her. God knows no one else there was.
─── ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ───
Word Count: 893 words
© Meropegaaunt 2023
#daisy jones and the six#daisy jones headers#billy dunne#camila dunne#graham dunne#karen sirko#sam claflin#blanca soler#simone jackson#suki waterhouse#warren rhodes#eddie roundtree#fanfic#fanfiction#writing#meropegaaunt: something beautiful
41 notes
·
View notes
Text
Finally getting this tattoo means so many different things
Head attached to body, tattoo artist said “now the head has a body!”, somatics and the awareness of my body and nervous system and all the ways it is my home, what keeps me safe, and what I must listen to and love, the inside of me is my best side
Not smking and the lightest edys every other day or so depending on body pain, that reconnecting to self, that I haven’t known in so long, feeling safer and beginning to feel the end of the fog more solid. Reminder of this growth and a bday gift about a bday gift
I drew a thumbnail of the idea around three years ago, and one year ago almost to the date I drew the sketch and flowers. Feels full circle with this time of year being when I started apprenticeship at first shop. The storm changed these plans, but had also planned to meet with friend who commissions social media/marketing things around my practice. This journey has been lesson after lesson, and learning commitment to myself over and over again.
Coyotes and all the ways I connect with them, their ways of communication, their adaptability and resourcefulness, the canis letrans of it all
I would climb Mojave mountains and feel so free as a 8-10 year old. I would spend hours just out climbing and visiting spots I knew about, abandoned mansion with empty swimming pool, places with wildlife or views, just exploring.
It’s in the shoulder with the spider (that represented at the time of getting it Jessica feelings) on my back. The Mojave desert is forever linked to my mom for many reasons. One is her moving us there was a huge upheaval. It was the beginning of the end stability for me, a first grader who had to repeat half of the grade “because of the move.” It’s where her new husband k/hs and we began to be unhoused. It was the first years long duration I can recount of her being really under resourced and unhinged in many ways. Such huge traumas were endured together in that town, and she moved there “out of nowhere” and in such dramatics. She also left there in dramatics, as quickly as she came and with no consideration for the people she was leaving. Another is that her father and his wife lived out there, they are who I stayed with for two weeks after David died, and some of my most vivid of joy filled and safe childhood memories are at their home. I’m scared of visiting or calling back my grandmother over there because I’m scared of her dying. When I called my moms dad, on a whim to reconnect since I was 7, he died a month later. The fear of her death soon approaching and the grief around the reality of blood family in general has me disconnected. I don’t want to disconnect from that grief, and in therapy I’m approaching a place where I won’t want to. Another is that with my connection to Mojave desert family comes my Jessica baggage, like they literally suspected me of being her scam calling them. I had to prove myself through questions and everything, which I only have compassion and understanding for. My mom wasn’t resourced in a lot of ways, but also made choices that directly hurt people she claimed to love, people that helped her over and over while being let down. I don’t know what the desert meant to her, and in wanting to visit I feel this urge to protect my heart in ways.
Mojave flora (Yerba mansa and desert chicory) bursting through helps me remember that birth and death are the same thing, change is the only constant, and “as a species, as life on earth, we’ve been dying for millennia, but I don’t think energy dies, it’s transformed” I can become again and again and actually that’s all I’m here to do. Life on earth is long, never measurable by a single experience of it. I’m part of it all, of everyone and every thing. My therapist has helped me untangle my compassion from fawning and it’s so powerful, it feels like a cycle of decompose and rebirth
Listened to: Tori Amos, hurray for the riffraff, a sermon on freedom, and a hymn on sovereignty.
1 note
·
View note
Text
“Roller Derby Queen”
Persephone
“Roller Derby Queen”
(Photo Credit: Source = Pinterest, posted by Cierra Ellsworth, Accessed November 29th 2023, https://pin.it/1YTwVMy)
July 21st, 2015
Hey Tumblr, I’m Persephone, my summers been super busy but I’ve been wanting to start a blog for so long. I’m 17 this August, 5’10, and my star sign is Pisces. I’m an actor, singer, and dancer. My dream one day is to do acting professionally, and to live in L.A. This blog is my way of journaling my journey, maybe so I can look back when I’m winning my first Oscar. Love you all, <3.
July 25th, 2015
Hi Tumblr, just wanted to update my summer. I’ve been spending my days rollerskating with friends, and practicing my lines for a play my local theatre is putting on. Hayden’s mom works at the theatre and sent me the script to audition. Hayden’s my boyfriend btw. The role is a queen who’s to be beheaded for crimes against her citizens. It totally reminds me of Marie Antoinette, who we learned about in Social Studies last year. She’s honestly my role model not to lie, lol. Love you all :).
July 31st, 2015
Omg Tumblr, I got the role. I may not be the lead but honestly the queens my favorite, my dad always says I’m the queen of the Coastside. He’s not wrong. Last year I won Winter Queen, had the whole town celebrate my 16th Birthday, and I got captain of my volleyball team. Iris says it’s because people have sympathy for my mom, I disagree. It’s all because my perfume. “Classique Intense Jean Paul Gaultier”. It stops the whole room, and gives me a deep sense of confidence. The scent reminds me of stardom, not some old sad memory I go back to for comfort. Iris is jealous that I have the skill to grow up. Love all of you *-*.
(Photo Credits: Source = Fragrantica, Accessed December 1st, https://www.fragrantica.com/perfume/Jean-Paul-Gaultier/Classique-Intense-24821.html.)
August 1st, 2015
I gave up the role. Hayden said every guy in town was talking about my costume, it was too much for him. But at least we’re together, maybe it’s for the better. Honestly acting is too much attention. Talk to y’all later, love ^~^.
August 3rd, 2015
It’s my Birthday tomorrow, my friends keep “forgetting” to invite me to hang out. I think they’re planning a big party, but don’t let them know I’ve got them figured out.
August 10th, 2015
Sorry Tumblr, I haven’t posted in a bit. Guess my friends were going out, and there were boys there, so they didn’t think I’d wanna go. Orion made me a cake though. And Iris drew me a card, it was still special. My siblings. We’ve been so separated this summer, but I know our loneliness is connected, we’re forever together, as siblings.
August 22nd, 2015
Again, sorry Tumblr for the late post, been kinda silent recently. Iris and Orion don’t know, but Hayden is always forcing me to go out everyday, I’ve barely had time for friends, and he wants me to delete Tumbler, lol, but it’s fine, I’m doing good.
August 25th, 2015
Song rec Tumblr, “Ride” by Lana Del Ray. Perfect for rollerskating. Miss you <3<3<3<3.
August 26th, 2015
(Account has become deactivated)
1 note
·
View note
Text
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an orange glow across the sky, Felix found himself seeking solace in the presence of his uncle Boris. They sat together in the dimly lit study, the scent of old books filling the air, their shared silence a testament to the unspoken bond that existed between them.
Boris broke the silence, his voice filled with a soft vulnerability. "Felix, my dear nephew, I know the pain you carry within you. Losing a loved one is a wound that never truly heals. I miss my sister every day, just as you miss your mother."
Felix nodded, tears shimmering in his eyes, grateful for his uncle's understanding. "Uncle Boris, it hurts so much. I often find myself wishing for just one more moment with her, one more conversation, to tell her how much I love her and how much I miss her."
Boris placed a hand on Felix's shoulder, offering a reassuring squeeze. "I know, Felix. I understand the ache of longing, the yearning to have those precious moments back. Losing someone we love dearly leaves a void in our hearts that can never be fully filled."
The room was filled with a heavy silence, the weight of their shared sorrows hanging in the air. It was a bond that transcended the blood ties that bound them together—it was the understanding of loss, of the absence that forever altered the tapestry of their lives.
Boris continued, his voice filled with a mixture of sadness and warmth. "When your mother left, it pained me deeply. Not only did I lose a sister, but I lost a part of myself. Her absence created an emptiness within me that I have carried for years."
Felix looked into his uncle's eyes, seeing the flicker of sorrow mirrored within them. "Uncle Boris, I never realized how much you loved her, how much losing her affected you. I'm sorry for not fully understanding your pain."
Boris shook his head, a gentle smile forming on his lips. "There's no need for apologies, Felix. Pain is a deeply personal journey, one that we each navigate in our own way. But I want you to know that you're not alone in this. We share a bond that goes beyond mere family ties—a bond forged in loss and the love we hold for those we've lost."
Felix felt a sense of solace wash over him, a comforting reassurance that he wasn't alone in his grief. In the presence of his uncle, he found a companion on this path of healing, someone who understood the complexities of their shared sorrow.
As the night wore on, Felix and Boris reminisced about their loved ones, sharing stories and memories that brought both laughter and tears. They spoke of the joys and the challenges they had faced, finding solace in their shared experiences.
Through their heartfelt conversation, Felix began to understand the depth of Boris' love for his sister, the pain that lingered in his uncle's heart. And in turn, Boris glimpsed the strength and resilience that blossomed within Felix, the unwavering determination to carry on his mother's legacy.
As the night drew to a close, Felix and Boris embraced, their hug a testament to the unbreakable bonds forged in their shared sorrow. They knew that, moving forward, they would support each other, drawing strength from their connection as they navigated the complexities of grief.
And so, in the depths of their shared sorrows, Felix and Boris found solace and comfort. Their conversation became a balm for their wounded souls, a reminder that even in the face of loss, love endured, and the memories of their loved ones would forever be cherished.
In the wake of their heartfelt conversation, a newfound depth to Felix and Boris's bond began to flourish. Their shared understanding of loss and the enduring love for their departed family members served as a foundation upon which their relationship grew stronger.
Felix found solace in knowing that his uncle Boris, with his weathered yet compassionate heart, was a pillar of support. In times of doubt or moments when grief threatened to overwhelm him, Boris was there to offer a listening ear and a comforting presence. Their connection became a sanctuary—a space where vulnerabilities were embraced and shared sorrows were acknowledged.
Boris, too, found solace in their bond. The love he had for his sister, Felix's mother, flowed seamlessly into his love for Felix himself. As he witnessed Felix's unwavering determination to honor his mother's legacy and his growing success as a pharmacist, Boris's heart swelled with pride. He saw in Felix a reflection of the strength and resilience that had defined their family for generations.
Their bond extended beyond shared grief. Felix's deep passion for pharmacy and commitment to patient care resonated with Boris's own reverence for scientific exploration. They engaged in spirited discussions about the interplay between medical science and compassionate practice, weaving together their diverse perspectives into a tapestry of knowledge and understanding.
In the evenings, they would gather in Boris's study, surrounded by shelves adorned with books and artifacts from their family's scientific endeavors. The room became a sanctuary of shared wisdom, where Felix absorbed the knowledge imparted by his uncle, who had dedicated his life to pushing the boundaries of science.
As they pored over research papers and engaged in animated conversations, Felix felt his love for his mother intertwined with his growing admiration for Boris. The more he learned about his uncle's work and the impact he had made in his field, the more he realized that Boris's unconventional methods and insatiable curiosity were driven by a desire to make a difference—a desire that mirrored his mother's own.
Their bond extended beyond the realm of academia and shared grief. Felix and Boris found solace in the simple moments as well—a shared meal, a walk through the countryside, or even a quiet moment sitting side by side, lost in their thoughts. These moments of quiet companionship held an unspoken understanding that words could not convey.
As time passed, Felix began to recognize that his relationship with his uncle was not just one of mentorship or familial obligation. It was a connection that transcended the boundaries of their roles, rooted in love, respect, and a shared understanding of the profound impact their family's legacy had on their lives.
In their continued exploration of scientific endeavors, Felix and Boris discovered that their individual strengths complemented each other. Felix's passion for patient care and his knowledge of pharmaceuticals melded seamlessly with Boris's vast scientific expertise. Together, they embarked on joint projects, collaborating on research that married cutting-edge science with compassionate healthcare practices.
Their partnership became a beacon of hope for the future—a future where medical science and ethical considerations were not at odds but worked hand in hand to improve the lives of patients. It was a testament to the enduring power of connection, the transformative force that can arise from shared experiences and a genuine desire to make a positive impact.
And so, as Felix and Boris continued to navigate the complexities of their personal and professional lives, their bond remained unbreakable. United by love, loss, and a commitment to their family's legacy, they forged ahead, drawing strength from each other, and weaving their unique perspectives into a tapestry of connection that would endure for generations to come.
1 note
·
View note
Text
The Glitch
I get the Broken Reality au is a haha funny joke but there’s been some legit great art for it and since Butterfly is over and I haven’t gotten into the groove of my other projects yet, I decided to try some flash fiction of my interpretations. Note that this is very small and informal; I used whatever idea came into my head over the course of an hour or so instead of the weeks of planning that go into my usual fics. This was an experiment for fun. But if people enjoy the concept, I may be tempted to expand on it.
Credit to @lollitree @moonpaw @gentrychild @owlf45 and @cyber-phobia (I’m sorry if I missed someone I lost track of how many people were involved in this mess).
Content working for reference to infant death.
Please enjoy!
The city shut down for a typhoon warning. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Dark clouds blocked the sun so much that by mid-morning it still looked like it never bothered coming up. And yet the humidity made it too hot for coffee. Inko didn’t know how to feel. Work would have been a good distraction. But she didn’t want any coworkers or clients to see if today got to be too much. And it was already shaping up to be. She caught herself making two plates of food for breakfast.
Inko sat alone in the kitchen. She couldn’t bring herself to finish her own plate. Sickness set in fast. The food had been cold for a long time before she summoned the strength to get up and throw it away. Then she stood over the open trash can a while, debating whether to try and hold it together, or just throw up and get it over with. She eventually managed to keep her stomach steady enough to go back to her bedroom. There was another trashcan in there anyway.
A sound stopped her. From her office. The distinct sound of something heavy falling onto the carpet. Right as she walked past the door.
Please not this again…
She opened the door with her eyes closed. Her mind conjured a familiar image. A bedroom full of books and hero posters. Bright colors and personal touches. A child’s room. Inko opened her eyes to her drab home office. Some of the older case file binders slipped off the pile again. She really needed to sort those into storage. Not today though. She didn’t bother to pick it up.
Inko walked faster than normal the rest of the way to her room. She doesn’t want to face the temptation to search for old toys she remembers storing in the empty closet. Or search the walls for scuff marks from action figures tossed into them she could always see even after the walls were painted. She hid her planner on a tall shelf and put the ladder away to make it that much harder to go through it over and over looking for doctors’ appointments and school events she knew were coming up. Finally reaching her bed brought no comfort.
Of course she knew today’s date by heart. She hadn’t put it on a calendar in the fourteen years since she used to look at it every day. Inko stuck her head under her pillows, as if they could block out the silent noise of her memories. Memories of before, the time even when she was by herself, she was never alone.
Fifteen years now, today. With a shuddering gasp, the tears finally came. Thunder crashed outside. It’s not fair! Why is it still this hard after this long? Phantom kicks in her belly joined the growing ice there.
The hardest part was she still felt like that sometimes. Like she wasn’t really alone. Inko didn’t believe in ghosts, but the lost of what could have been was more than haunting enough. She felt it watching her. Judging her. Waiting just long enough for her to settle down into a peaceful, content existence before it reared up to plague her heart all over again. Cliché hauntings like spooky faces in the mirror or blood coming out of the drains would have been preferable. Those would be generic enough not to remind her directly.
Rain started outside. Her phone lit up with a notification she ignored in time with a thunderclap. The storm was getting closer.
Maybe I should call Hisashi, the thought crossed her mind. Maybe he’s going through this too. She bit her lip bloody. Her frustrated memories weren’t in question like the others. Probably not though. I don’t want to talk to him anyway.
Hisashi had been stuck in the denial stage of grief, which often came off as him acting like he didn’t take hers seriously. Not a year, not even half a year looking back, after they came home from the hospital, he wanted to try again.
“We can’t let mourning hold us up forever,” he said. “And it’s not like we lost a once in a lifetime opportunity! We’ve got at least another twenty years to keep trying!”
But we did lose him! she had wanted to scream. Still did, years later. Why didn’t he understand? He was your loss too! Inko wanted for the next roll of thunder, then shouted.
“I don’t just want any baby! I want Izuku!”
The lights went out. The temperature rose five degrees instantly when the ceiling fan stopped going. The rain stopped.
Power outage. Inko sat up with a sniffle. Turns out the notification was a warning about roving blackouts. Of course. Oh well. I wasn’t really in the mood to cook tonight any-
Thunder boomed even louder than before, making her jump. Then another. Lightning flashed outside at the same time. It was right on top of her.
What? I thought the typhoon wasn’t supposed to make landfall until later toni-
Another crash. It vibrated through her bones. Then another. The lightning lit up her whole room. Except for a shadow on the wall. Inko jolted to look, holding her breath, and found only her own shadow in the next flash.
“I’m such an idiot…” She went for her phone again. For peace of mind, she decided to use her data to check if an evacuation order went out. Or any updates at all really, since the weather came so much faster than the news said. “Nothing,” she sighed annoyed. “I hate being alone for weather like this…”
A new notification pinged.
[Mom]
Inko blinked rapidly. The message remained. All of her insides turned inside out in an instant, and she started crying again. Was this someone’s idea of a sick joke? No one ever got a chance to call her that. She touched the note to open it, but nothing happened. No app or source was displayed. Nor did it go away after a few seconds like normal.
“Wha- What’s going on?” she wept. In a mix of sorrow and rage, she wound up to chunk the device across the room. But she froze.
Outside her window, floating against the pitch-black sky, were two small orbs. Perfectly circular and glowing. Watching her. She didn’t dare move.
Another ping. She looked without moving.
[I’m sorry]
“… What?”
For a moment, all the sounds in the world dropped out. They all came back at ounce.
Lights flickered. Both the ones inside and the lightning going outside. Multiple strikes laid on top of one another. No relief. Thunder pounded over and over like a drum solo. It shook the whole building. Inko ran into the closet away from the window. She slammed her hands over her eyes but it didn’t help. Her terrified cried were whispers to the screams of the storm.
A child’s scream. She heard it. Each flash of light came with a cry. The distinct sound of a little boy calling out in pain blended with unyielding nature. It came from every direction. Every hair on Inko’s arms stood up in fear. She felt the charge in the air. But she had to go out. Her baby was crying for help.
She burst from the closet into the living room. All the lights and appliances turned themselves on and off. The TV showed only static between its flashes. Something drew her too it. The storm was deafening. It pounded through her head like a heartbeat. The beats got faster. The static flashes started to look like a face. Her usual caution was abandoned as she fell to her knees and touched the screen. The snow cleared for a single instant. Just long enough to look like the blank eyes from the window. She felt the heartbeat there too.
Then it stopped. All of it. The noise and lights all went quiet and dark. The TV went completely cold in an instant. Inko, stunned, palmed over it looking for something. Anything. The pulse. Warmth. A burnt fuse or faulty wire. But nothing. The rain started again.
She pulled her hands back to her lap. Her heart was still racing and tears kept flowing down under her chin. She looked around. Everything in the living room and kitchen looked the same. No sign of the earthquake-like convolutions the whole appartement experienced only minutes ago. Inko combed the entire space for evidence. An object knocked off the shelf. A picture frame fallen from the wall. The notifications. Toys in the closet or scuffs in the wall. Still not a sign. She even stepped outside her door to check the sky. Only light rain and shattered thunder, just like the news said the day before.
There was only one thing out of place. Back in her bedroom, the bottom drawer of her nightstand hung open. Inko had to steal herself before approaching it. There were only two things in there: a little green blanket, and a picture of the ultrasound. The most recent one from her last appointment. The doctor said he was doing fine.
“Izuku…” she whispered to it in her hand.
She remembered the squealing little bundling being put in her arms for the first time. The first time he smiled at her. Teaching him to walk, then immediately launching into play. Him coming home with bruises and scrapes after the kids at school were mean to him, and crying in her arms. Then, him coming home with his first real friends in a long time. She made them all dinner. Katsudon. That was Izuku’s favorite.
Only she didn’t remember. The same way she didn’t really remember the toys and scuffs. Those were fantasies. Daydreams of what could have been. She just thought about them so often they felt like memories. Especially today. It was his birthday after all. They’d fade back into vague dreams by tomorrow. They always did.
And she would be left with reality. The silence. The cold, still little hand between her fingers. Soft cheeks without blush. Eyes that never opened. Clutching him too tight to her chest, knowing the second she let go he would be gone for real and it would all be over.
But it was never over. Inko went through this same torturous song and dance every year for fifteen now. All the guilt and dread would subside slowly over the next one, until it all came back at once. Just like this.
At least it’s done for now, she tried to reassure herself, climbing back into bed. It still wasn’t even noon yet. Plenty of time for another breakdown. Hopefully the next one won’t be, feel, as loud. She sighed heavily into her sheets. This sort of thing can’t be normal. I should really try therapy again.
Against her better judgement, she kept the blanket out, and clutched it to her chest. Static electricity pricked her fingers. With her other hand, she reached across the bed, and tried to imagine someone else there. Not Hisashi, never him anymore. Izuku. He was fifteen and happy, but the storm was making him nervous so he came to lay beside her. She remembered it like it was now. If she closed her eyes, she could feel his warm, soft skin, with a healthy, if a little anxious heartbeat just underneath. The mattress warped as he sighed.
“We’ll be okay. It’s just a little rough weather,” she promised.
“Okay, Mom,” Izuku answered quietly. “… I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” I’ll start trying to get myself together tomorrow. For now, let me have this.
Izuku didn’t respond for a while. “I love you.”
“I love you too, baby. Happy birthday.”
#midoriya inko#midoriya izuku#broken reality au#the glitch#mha#bnha#mha fanfiction#bnha fanfiction#my hero academia#boku no hero academia#aconstantstateoffanfiction#april fools#the long con
344 notes
·
View notes
Text
lover
sam wilson x fem!reader
warnings: absolutely none. this is pure fluff, the perfect way to kick off my first sam wilson obsession
word count: 1.3k- basically a drabble
inspired by lover by taylor of course- y’all can peep the places i slid in a few lines hehehe
You were reading, but then again, you weren’t. There were moments where you could pull yourself together and look at the pages, but you knew that it was all in vain. Sam Wilson was right across from you, sitting at the table with you as he watched you the same way. You felt your cheeks warm up at his steady stare, and finally you put your book down. The soft music playing in the background filled the silence while you tried to string together a coherent sentence.
You could never remember to do anything around Sam but admire him. “Can I help you, Sam?” You asked, the playful tone of your voice not escaping his notice. You saw his lips quirk up into that small half smile that stole your heart months ago and propelled you forward into a life you never thought you’d live.
“Didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to look at my girl,” he drawled, and you rolled your eyes before picking your book up again, even though you both knew that you weren’t going to retain a word of what you pretended to read. ‘What, are you busy or something?”
“Trying to get in some light reading,” you murmured, your heart settling to a calming rate when his leg found yours under the table, locking with yours in the way that he almost always did. You couldn't keep the smile from coming to your lips. It only took him a minute and a half to trail his hand across the table and take your left one, gently prying it from the book and holding it tenderly.
When you opened your mouth to scold him with less than your full chest, he gave you a look that made your heart stutter. “Just wanna be close to you, sweetheart.” He was just so charming. He was smooth in a way that made anyone’s mind falter for a moment, and so genuine that you knew he meant every word he said. He had this charisma, a dazzling aura around him that you saw from miles away, and it was what drew you to him in the first place. He never failed to put you in a romantic kind of haze, one that only he could put you in and take you out of.
You had loved and lost a few times in life, had your heart borrowed and returned and dyed blue many more times than you would have preferred, but it was all worth it when it came to Sam. You knew that you would go through each heartbreak three more times just to love Sam once, if that was what it took. Your blue heart turned a passionate pink the second you met him, and you just knew that it was safe with him. You had never met anyone like Sam Wilson, and you had surely never met anyone who made you feel like he did.
Within a few minutes, you had only turned the page once, and the feeling of his eyes on you surely didn’t make you go any faster. When you finally got to a new chapter, you saw that it was going to be told from the point of view of a character that had a particularly boring arc up to that point, and you knew that there was no way you were going to be able to ignore Sam while reading it. “You need something, Wilson?”
He grabbed your second hand, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. “Just you,” he said, and then the annoying sound of the wooden chair scraping the floor was loud in your small apartment. He brought you to your feet, and then you were standing with him, both hands intertwined over the table. “Let’s dance.”
You blinked. “Sam, you know I don’t dance.” You had two left feet and not enough heart to have fun while embarrassing yourself. The last time you had danced was actually with Sam, when he put on old, outdated slow song and tried to prove that he could out dance Steve and Bucky, even though they had lived through the slow dancing age. You had dragged him down a bit, but he still managed to show off with you on his arm.
“You also didn’t ride roller coasters, eat fair food, swim in the ocean, or go to concerts,” he pointed out, and you rolled your eyes. “And look at you now, sweetpea.”
It was true. Sam could bat his eyelashes at you twice and you would do anything he wanted. Not because he was too pretty to deny, but because he wanted you to be with him. He made you get on that terrifying ride because he wanted to see your face on the climb, and because he wanted to hold your hand while you went down together. He wanted you to go to the beach with him and get in the water because he knew you’d like it if you tried it, and because he would get to see your eyes light up when you realized it yourself. He wanted to do everything with you because he wanted memories with him. And deep down, you knew that you would always go where he would. So, without a word, you rounded the side of the table and went into his awaiting arms.
He was a good dancer. He led you without even saying a word, a hand on the small on your back and the other pulling you close. You closed your eyes and leaned your head on his chest, humming in contentment as words left your mind until you were only filled with thoughts of him.
“What are you thinking about, sweetheart?” He asked, and you nearly cursed him and his observant skills.
“Just…” you said, and your heart swelled at the way he looked down at you, waiting patiently for you to form your words to your liking. “It’s in times like these where I can’t remember if I’ve known you for twenty seconds or twenty years,” you murmured, and he gave you a small smile.
“And why is that?” He asked, a teasing lilt to his voice, and you ignored the way that your cheeks heated up again.
“We just- we just feel close,” you explained weakly, but he didn't press. He knew you weren’t finished, like he knew everything about you. “Not even just physically, but, everything. All around.”
He was still swaying you gently, the innocent kind of dance that you would see between a sweet couple. His hands were warm on your skin, gentle and firm in reminding you that he was there with you, not halfway across the world and bleeding on some sort of aircraft. “Can we always be this close, sweetheart?”
Instead of your heart speeding up again, it just ticked on steadily like the time, a metronome that kept up with your swaying. “As long as you want us to be.”
In a display that would have made your stomach churn with how sickly sweet it was had you been watching another couple do it, he bent down and kissed you again. “That’s gonna be a long time, darlin’.”
You didn’t have a ring on your finger. Hell, you didn’t even have a full year under your belt with him. You didn’t have the same skills as him, you didn’t like to go on those long runs at the crack of dawn with him, and you sure as hell weren’t built for the kind of life that he lived so that others didn’t have to. But you knew that you loved him wholly and eternally and you could feel that he returned it, and that fact was as hard and true as a diamond. You didn’t need three summers and a proposal to decide or realize that.
“Forever, then.” You said, and your heart skipped at your own words, until he bent down and kissed you, lips against your for a few seconds until he pulled away, still so close that you could feel them moving against you when he spoke again.
“Forever works for me.”
*****
i quite literally have had zero time to write, and when i did have time, writer’s block was terrible. I’m fr very sappy rn and this was the cure i guess? this is my first sam fic and the first thing i’ve made since i got into a funk, so be please be gentle skfjs
#sam wilson x reader#sam wilson fanfiction#just sam wilson#sam wilson fluf#sam wilson one shot#my fics#sam wilson x you#sam fluff#marvel fanfiction
186 notes
·
View notes
Text
katara: “do you hear that?”
aang: “sounds like it’s coming from over there...”
for kataang week day 3: post canon @kataang-week
newly wedded aang and katara (now sporting a cute little bob) were travelling across the world for their honeymoon. on their way to the kingdom of omashu, the two decided to stop and revisit the cave of two lovers. as aang and katara leaned in for a quick kiss by the entrance of the cave, they heard a blood-curling scream come from inside. immediately pulling away, the couple shared a suspicious look with each other before deciding to investigate.
katara cautiously grabbed her pouch as aang drew out a small flame to lead the way. however, the waterbender stopped her husband to remind him that the tunnels were filled with fluorescent crystals that glowed in the dark.
“oh yeah,” aang recalled. he looked down at the flame dwindling in his palm. “i’ll put it out when we get further in there. if we hear screaming again, we’ll be able to find out where it came from.”
“you can also use your earth bending this time around.”
aang nodded. “that i can.” the gentle lines of his face - reserved especially for his wife - quickly switched up to the avatar look, the signature look that he bore whenever there was danger and people in need of his help.
“let’s go.”
(continued under the cut, 2.4k words)
the broad sunlight of the summer day was reduced to a small crevice against their backs, as the two lovers made their way into the shadows of the labyrinth. their primary light source came from aang’s flame, which had grown brighter the farther they travelled. the avatar could not help but become a little bit mesmerized with the vivid red and orange hues that danced in his left palm, the warmth that occupied his hand having stretched out to his entire body. the flame synchronized so perfectly well with his heartbeat. fire is life, he recalled the words of the sun warrior chief. not just destruction.
aang nearly chuckled out loud. firebending came so naturally to him now - almost as natural as his airbending. to think that there was ever a time that he had outright hated the element and vowed to never learn it, even if it had meant jeopardizing his avatarhood.
however, a small voice crept to the back of his mind, uncomfortably reminding of the exact reason as to why he initially refused to learn the element at the age of twelve. it was the same reason that brought shame and guilt inside his gut - even eight years later - whenever the memory unexpectedly crossed his mind. what he had done to katara on that day, how he had refused to listen to jeong jeong’s advice and lost control of his fire, the image of her fresh burns - it was all there, forever smeared across his brain and heart as a painful reminder. no matter how many times katara had insisted that good had come from that day through the discovery of her healing abilities, aang could never wash away the trauma associated with that event.
he inhaled sharply. it won’t happen again. he wasn’t twelve anymore, and he had full control over all the elements now. fire was energy, he had learned, and life.
sparing a glance at katara, who had been awfully quiet since they got into the cave, he noticed that his wife was chewing anxiously on her lower lip. the trouble in her beautiful features was easily detectable by the bright flames within his hand. he moved closer to her, his shoulder gently bumping hers in an attempt to comfort her. “you okay?”
she met his eyes, and he could see the hint of fear reflected in them. “aang, i’m worried.”
“you have nothing to be worried about,” aang reassured her with a small smile. “whatever it is, or whoever it is, we can take ‘em.”
katara shook her head. “i’m not worried about the who. we’ve probably dealt with far worse than whatever is lingering in this cave. but i - aang, what if it’s bad?”
he frowned, confused. “what if what’s bad, then?”
she studied her hands carefully. her hands were the hands of a fighter, of a healer. the same hands who had resurrected an avatar back to life and saved a firelord from near death, while dismantling another firelord from the throne. he felt the sudden urge to draw her hands in his own, to hold her tight enough to ease away her fears.
“what if there’s a bunch of dead bodies stashed away in this tunnel, rotting away for days or even weeks?” she answered in alarm, eyes widening at the dark path ahead of them. “or, what if there’s a bunch of people lying around in pain, on the brink of death, and I don’t have enough water to save them all?”
his eyes turned to the road ahead. he saw nothing, except for earth and more earth. but he knew better than to dismiss those kind of fears.
“that wouldn’t be your fault.” he responded gently. “we’ll do our best to help, to make sure that whoever is out there is safe and unharmed. but if they do happen to be harmed - or worse, dead - and we’ve tried everything that we could,” he shuttered out a breath at the imagery. “i don’t want you to blame yourself for whoever you can’t save, katara.”
“and i don’t want you to blame yourself, aang.” she placed a hand on his shoulder as they walked on. he tried to ignore the immediate sweep of panic churning in his stomach at her proximity to the fire. if he envisioned a future with both katara and firebending, he would have to get used to accepting that she would be around the times when he required the element.
“i know you feel a sense of responsibility, as the avatar, to ensure that the world is kept safe,” she continued on. her voice softened, a sad tone. “i know it upsets you when it isn’t.”
“wasn’t i the one consoling you just a second ago?” aang joked, deflecting.
“we’re consoling each other.” katara insisted with a small smile. the corners of her mouth dropped at her next statement: “i know you don’t like to talk about it, aang, the stress and pressure that you feel. but i also know how it keeps you up at night. why you choose to sometimes spend long periods of time meditating.”
just like that, she had flipped the switch on him in the way that only she knew how. katara was undoubtedly right. of course he had seen and experienced his fair amount of injustice and morbidity; they all had. but the guilt of not being able to do anything about it - to know that people all over the world were counting on him to end their suffering and plight and despair, while there were many days when all he could do was sit in lavish cushions arguing endlessly with politicians who could not relate to the earth kingdom boy who had nothing to eat, or to the water tribe girl who had lost her parents, or to the air nomad who was the sole survivor of an entire culture - ate away at his heart and mind at every minute of every hour. even now, when he was supposed to be enjoying his blissful vacation with his wife.
“aang.” he felt katara lightly pull his chin towards her, forcing him to look at her before his mind could wander down the same dangerous road that it had so many days and nights before. she stopped the two in their tracks, the light from his palm illuminating their darkened features.
the fire reflected back in the indigo of her eyes, embodying the energy and intensity and life that was katara, his best friend, his saviour. suddenly, he was transported back to a time during the war, when he had just been a fidgety twelve year-old boy staring up at his fourteen year-old best friend. his heart thumped furiously against his chest the closer he inched to her face. when their lips met, he felt electricity course through his veins and wondered if the warmth that pooled in his stomach was what love felt like.
as he caught her lips in his own again, this time at the age of twenty, he could confirm - a memoir to his twelve year old self - that the warmth was indeed love. but love was also so much more, he came to realize over the years. love was the cautious hands of a fourteen year-old girl spending weeks at his side, healing him from his coma, sobbing in despair and frustration when he would not wake up. love was the way that he had thrown his arms around her waist, and she around his neck, relief flooding each other’s veins at the knowledge that they were both alive and safe and together after his defeat of ozai and her defeat of azula. love was the way her hand fit so perfectly in his, palm pressed to palm and fingers intertwined, as the two watched the early formations of republic city from their home, vowing to leave a lasting legacy on a world where benders and non-benders of all types could live together in safety and harmony.
love was also the brief kiss in an abandoned cave that said a million more things than he could ever say in words.
when the two pulled back, he noted the way that her eyes twinkled up at him under the fluorescent light. the crystals shone overhead, leading them down a familiar path, just as how it had done when he was twelve. aang checked his left palm and realized that he had extinguished his flame during the kiss.
katara’s smile reached her eyes when she grabbed for his hand, pulling him along. “funny,” she said, bemused. “that thing you said when we were kids. guess it held up all these years, didn’t it?”
“what thing?”
“oh, you know,” she replied with a casual shrug, a mischievous glint forming in her eye. “you choosing to kiss me over dying - ”
he groaned. she was never going to let him live that one, was she?
“did i say that?” aang feigned innocence. “i can’t quite recall. maybe what my awkward twelve-year old self had meant to say, instead, was that the thought of not being able to kiss you is just so unbearable that i would rather have chosen death.”
“mmhmmm. sure you had.” a blush slowly crept up her cheeks, betraying her sarcastic tone. success.
“good thing that hasn’t happened yet, though. the not being able to kiss you anymore part.” he paused, adding as an afterthought: “the death part, too, if we’re being honest.”
“don’t speak so soon. what if there’s a serial killer in here?” she hushed him, looking around conspiratorially.
“you’d rather a serial killer kiss you instead of your own husband? ouch.”
she smacked his arm. “aang! i’m serious. with the recent bender supremacy uprisings going on in major cities of the earth kingdom, it’s not out of the realm of possibility. what’s stopping a bender supremacist from kidnapping a bunch of non-benders in omashu and dumping their bodies in this cave right now?”
“well, for starters, we would’ve heard by now if that were the case, wouldn’t we have? there’d be rumours, like with what happened with hama. so far, there hasn’t been any reports of mysterious non-bender disappearances in the cities where the uprisings are taking place. definitely not any in omashu.”
a dark look settled across katara’s face at the mention of the estranged bloodbender. “an earth bender supremacist could be dragging bodies from the city and burying them in the rubble of the tunnels. no one would even think to look because the legend says that the cave is cursed.”
aang scratched his head, suddenly very wary about his surroundings. his eyes scanned everywhere around him, from the plethora of crystals that provided them light on top to the solid stone that held the cave in place, trying to spot any semblance of a decomposing body. just as before, he couldn’t detect anything unusual.
while he knew that katara’s suspicions had merit to them, his mind still hesitated over the idea of a bender supremacist trapping people in caves. he would have heard something by now, if that were the case. besides, they were drawing all of these inferences from a scream that he wasn’t even sure came from a human. the high-pitched sound could have belonged to a species of wolfbats, for all they knew. and even if it were to emerge out of a person, who was to say that it was connected to the victim of a bender supremacist murderer? it could have been from a lost and hungry traveler stuck in the cave for days, unsure of their way out. or perhaps it was from someone whose foot was trapped under rubble, screaming out in sheer pain. maybe it even belonged to a villager being chased by an angry spirit.
he walked over to one of the walls, running his hand over the sharp rocks that pricked at his skin. or perhaps, he thought bitterly, gritting his teeth, it was his own refusal to accept that he was failing the world again that led him to dismiss such possibilities. given the political climate, it was entirely possible that bender supremacists were using their bending to hide bodies within the cave. he just wasn’t aware of any of it because it was all taking place underneath his nose, while he remained in blissful ignorance with the women he loved on what was supposed to be his vacation.
aang closed his eyes. he focused on the vibrations emitting from the ground, trying to detect if there was anything that could give him a clue, like a direction to the source of the scream. he was even searching for the large footsteps of badger moles or the fluttering wings of wolfbats. while he was no toph, his earthbending had vastly improved over the years to the point where he had gotten very good at perceiving the world around and underneath him through vibrations. but this time around, he was sensing absolutely nothing.
well, not entirely nothing. aang noted that some parts of the earth below his hand felt kind of fresh. and quite warm. it didn’t take an earth bender to realize that their texture and temperature were evidently different from the rocks comprising the rest of the cave. this new formation of rock - whatever it was - also felt very familiar to him, almost like he had dealt with this type before.
his eyes widened in recognition. it was rock that had hardened after the eruption of a volcano. and not just any ordinary eruption; a special kind of eruption that didn’t require any volcano whatsoever.
lavabending.
“hey, katara. would you be able to come over here? i think i found something.”
aang’s words were interrupted by the sudden howl of a blood-curling scream. this time, he had felt the vibrations perfectly through the earth, and spirits did they hurt. he winced in pain, his ears ringing, reflexively removing his hand off the ground.
the screaming did not seem to stop the longer the seconds passed. multiple more emitted from the path ahead in unison, echoing off the chambers of the cave. his heart pounded. there was no denying that the cries had unmistakably belonged to humans.
katara already had a stream of water out from her pouch. she had sprang into action, pointing in the precise direction that the noise was coming from.
“this way,” she shouted, running ahead.
be careful, he couldn’t help think as he trailed after her.
--
this art was adapted from the following comic panel in imbalance part 2:
84 notes
·
View notes
Text
An Evening Meal
Writing is pain but I damn well finished it 😤
--
It wasn’t often that Logan joined the others in the dining hall for meals. He knew that his presence was unwanted, that all but Page had demanded his death, and the pointed glares and scathing remarks were more than enough to put him off his food. So more often than not, he took his meals in his room and made an effort to stay out of the way of the rest of the council whenever possible. It just made life that little bit more tolerable for all of them.
Well, not quite everyone obviously.
On this particular evening, Lorna had insisted that Logan join the rest of them for dinner and she'd refused to take no for an answer. And when he’d arrived, having finally relented and agreed for her sake, it was clear that she’d had a word with the others.
He was keenly aware that Lorna’s friends and advisors were determinedly not looking at him and were taking great pains to avoid addressing or mentioning him. Instead they talked amongst themselves, discussing the day’s work or regaling one another with stories of their adventures as they indulged in a fine wine imported from Samarkand.
Judging by the flush of Sabine’s cheeks and the way he jumped up onto his chair with his staff raised aloft, the Dweller had gone a little beyond a small indulgence.
“And then, with thunderous cries that shook the heavens themselves, we brought down our axes on the troll’s monstrous head! Its mantle split, its blood spilt forth, and we Dwellers rid ourselves and our land of its insidious poisons!” he declared with a surprising boom. For such a small man, he had a very impressive set of lungs.
And a very impressive talent for embellishment, Logan thought to himself, considering that the victory hadn’t been the work of the Dwellers alone. But he said nothing and tried to focus on his food. He’d let the old man have his stories and glory. There was no need for him to bring any attention to himself.
“I remember that story a little differently,” Lorna chuckled, as if she’d read his mind. At least she kept her voice low and between herself and Logan. “I thought it was your hammer that split the troll’s head open, and that the Dwellers’ axes were busy with its nerve tendrils.”
Logan shrugged indifferently.
“I don’t see that it makes a difference. Sabine is welcome to tell his stories as he wishes.”
He was aware that her gaze lingered on him a moment before turning back to the conversation further down the table. The big Dweller - Boulder - was busy guiding the tipsy Sabine back into his seat just as Ben Finn leapt into his own tale.
“So one minute Private Jammy and I are walking our daring Rebel Princess through the use of the mortar. The next, a legion of Hollowmen are erupting from the ground, ready to charge the gates-!”
“Avo’s sake, Ben, give it a rest,” Page huffed. “No one cares whether you managed to kill three hollowmen with one shot or not.”
“But it really did happen!” he protested, his brows knitting together. Then he pointed an accusing finger at her and said, “you just don’t believe it because you didn’t even believe in hollowmen until you went to Reaver’s little Masquerade party, and now you don’t want to admit that I’m telling the truth!”
“I don’t believe it because you were probably too busy nattering at them to actually do any shooting.”
Logan observed the bickering pair briefly - he took faint amusement at the indignant look of offense on Ben’s face - then turned back to his sister, who was watching the small spectacle unfold with a small smile that was somewhat unreadable.
She’d aged since that day in the throne room. She’d lost some of the softness that rounded her cheeks, and while her eyes weren’t quite hardened, they’d lost their innocent glimmer. She’d also sprouted upwards a few inches, leaving her just shy of his own height. But what drew his attention were the scars on her face.
Suddenly, as if he was possessed by some old repressed childish instinct, he reached over and flicked her in the nose.
Lorna squeaked - actually squeaked - in surprise, swatted his hand away and stared at him like he’d just grown a second head.
Heads swivelled in their direction. Ben and Page’s spirited debate was abruptly cut off and Saker was halfway out of his seat before Lieutenant Attaway’s hand gripped his forearm and a pointed look sent him sinking back down apprehensively.
Logan felt his face heat up at the sudden scrutiny.
What in the Light’s name had possessed him to do that? He briefly entertained the notion of trying to will himself to fade from sight or to sink through his chair into the floor, but as ever, he remained in full view and firmly in his seat. So he tried to act as though he’d not just reached out and flicked his sister, the Queen, in the face like a child might.
Sabine and Kalin just watched with mild interest, and Walter stared for a moment, then chortled.
“No pestering each other at the table,” he said, as if they were still small children and in need of reminding, before he turned away. “I hear that Page’s people were able to track down your missing shipments, Kalin.”
“Hm? Oh yes. The young man, Kidd I believe? Was able to locate the thieves and reclaim them for us,” she replied, catching on quickly and inclining her head towards Page. “It would please me if he were to receive my most heartfelt thanks.”
Page affirmed that she’d pass on the message, and the conversation resumed, though Walter gave the siblings one last heartfelt grin before turning away and leaving them to their own discussion.
Logan made a note in the back of his mind to make up the last four years to Walter for his smooth redirection of the conversation before things got even more awkward.
“What was that for?” Lorna giggled, even though it was clear that she was utterly perplexed. “You haven’t flicked me since I was nine.”
Logan shrugged, still wishing he could vanish on the spot. Still no luck, and he wasn’t going to get away with such a plainly uncharacteristic act in the middle of dinner. So he vainly willed some of the pinkness from his cheeks and turned to his sister.
“There was something on your nose,” he said matter-of-factly. “You never did tell me where you got those scars.”
There were two. An arched cut over the bridge of her nose that hadn’t quite healed right, leaving a slight ridge of raised tissue along the bottom edge of the scar. The second was a perfect mirror of his own; a deep, thin line gouged through her lip as if drawn by a claw, though her’s was on the opposite side to his.
That was the scar that she self-consciously rubbed her thumb over.
“Well this one was a gift from Saker,” she said after a brief pause, tapping the side of her nose to indicate the arched mark. “He punched me in the face during our fight.”
“And the other?”
As expected, she hesitated to answer and her thumb traced over the mark once more, the side of her nail dragging through the narrow groove. He knew all too well where it had come from, but he needed to hear her say it before he could truly accept that she had encountered that thing too.
“Crawler,” she whispered. “It said something about ‘one to match the other.’ At the time, I thought it was talking about this one-" she tapped her nose again "-but I guess it was talking about you.”
The corner of his mouth itched, but he resisted the urge to rub it.
Every time he closed his eyes at night, he could taste blood in his mouth and hear the Crawler’s cackling as it dragged a wicked claw over his lips, marking him forever as one of its playthings. He’d wake up in a cold sweat and have to run his thumb over his mouth to ground himself, to reassure himself that he was not bleeding and that he was far from Crawler’s grasp… for the moment, at least.
He wondered, briefly, if Lorna had similar nightmares. The dark circles around her eyes were telling enough. It was little wonder that she applied makeup whenever she left the castle or attended court. Anything to keep her people from suspecting that their Queen was struggling with her burden.
"I suppose it must have been," was his reply. "Unless getting a scar from Saker of all people was somehow one of your worst memories."
The touch of sarcasm took the edge off of the conversation, and Lorna grinned in spite of herself.
"At least I didn't get one from falling down the stairs when I was six," she jabbed.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Logan replied airily, though the corner of his lips twitched ever so slightly upwards. "Especially when one considers that you weren't even alive back then."
"Jasper would never lie about something like that," she shot back smugly. "He said that you were inconsolable for over an hour."
"Jasper was mad even back then."
"People don't go senile in their early fifties, Logan."
"I said 'mad' not 'senile'. Sane people don't look at an advertisement that insists that a butler must be prepared for daily occurrences of violence and decide 'ah yes, that sounds like the perfect job for me'."
That was a story that their mother had simply loved to tell. Apparently Jasper was the only applicant she had received after her first butler's prompt resignation, which had resulted from a sudden and unexpected bandit attack, and when he'd proven more than capable of running her household and dealing with intruders - where he'd learned to handle live explosives, he'd never say - she kept him on, and he'd served her and her family ever since.
Most butlers had better self-preservation instincts.
Lorna simply grinned though, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes.
"Careful Logan. He can hear everything we say, remember?"
"Well of course I do," Logan said, rolling his eyes. "He was doing that long before he figured out how to work the Guild Seal."
"Right," she laughed. "Remember that time we planned to leave earwigs under the pillow of that diplomat from Samarkand?"
"I still have no idea how he found out about that," Logan chuckled, shaking his head.
"Because he hears all, sees all and knows all." She paused, then nodded her head with a faux look of grim determination. "When this is all over, I shall see to it that there is a temple dedicated to Jasper."
"He deserves it. He's put up with the two of us for all these years."
It would be upon later reflection that the ease of the back and forth would surprise Logan. He and his sister hadn't bantered so casually in years. Not since Aurora. He'd certainly not indulged in the nostalgia of his youthful antics like this, not when so much had been resting on his shoulders.
And yet, for just a while, it was as if nothing had changed. They continued to chat over their dinner, completely ignorant to the conversation and sideways glances from further down the table.
Maybe, he thought to himself after they had all dispersed for the evening, he would take his meals in the dining room more often.
#nightingale writes#fable 3#logan#hobw#lorna#walter beck#sabine#kalin#ben finn#page#saker#lieutenant attaway#hehe sibling content
57 notes
·
View notes
Text
sparks and embers - chapter 6
Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character
Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron
Chapter 6 - Ruin
Words: 5.9k
Chapter Tags/Warnings: Mentions of war/death, kissing, a healthy dose of the ‘sharing a bed’ trope, ANGST, sexual education because who doesn’t want to read about that in fanfiction, vague description of a female medical procedure
Read on AO3 or Start from the beginning
~
A softened sigh left me, knowing it was probably time to let Poe say his piece. He’d been so silent until now that I felt compelled to hear what had been stirring inside his mind while I’d held him in quiet contempt.
“Alright. I’m listening.”
He flicked on one of the dimmed lamps next to the bed, a gentle glow illuminating the room, watching as he proceeded to carefully extricate himself from under the sheets, the soreness as a result of the rehab we’d performed today now evident in his concentrated expression.
I drew myself up into a seated position on the sofa as he made his way to sit on the small table at my front, not attempting to meet my eyes until he’d slowly placed himself down on the metal. His face was less than a meter from mine, pupils drifting upwards until finally, our stares locked.
“I’m sorry,” he declared, his words heavy. “I understand why you’re angry. I get it, okay? Years of battle after battle, fight after fight, it becomes difficult to consider those working under the First Order’s control as people. People with families, loved ones, even children. They appear as targets, there simply to be eliminated. And it’s you or them. Either you perish, or you put the rational thought into the back of your mind and fight back.”
Poe glanced down, fixated to the floor, his jaw tight. “I do think about it sometimes, the people I’ve... murdered. I’ve spent sleepless nights wondering if killing in the name of freedom was a good enough reason to send people to an early death. When you don’t see their faces it’s…. easier. You don’t see the bloodshed, the corpses. You just see the fiery explosion of their ships fading into the black void of space.”
I stayed rigid in the sofa, hands clutching the into cushions. It was difficult to hold down the simmer of anger that boiled in my stomach, since everything so far only reinforced what I felt like I’d determined hours ago. Even while my demeanour remained stormy, Poe continued.
“All I heard in my childhood was my father reminding me of the way he and my mother fought for what they believed to be right. Both of them lived and battled through a time like ours, under the thumb of a regime hungry for power, sparing no innocents in their pursuit of it.” He became lost in memory, the aura drifting around him stained with a subtle sorrow. “‘People were hurting. People were suffering. Your father and I couldn’t sit and do nothing.’ That’s what my mother had told me, a child of two, as her reasoning for joining the Alliance in their efforts to push back against what threatened all type of freedom in this galaxy. My parents offered to sacrifice their lives on the tiniest shred of hope that me, and every other being on every planet, would see peace in their lifetime.”
His eyes finally shifted back to focus on mine. They were determined, yet soft, the chocolate fibers of his irises melting together. “I just... wanted to be like her. Like them. I wanted to do what they did. I wanted them to be proud of me, to have faith that their legacy would live on after they were gone. To provide freedom and peace like they had. Even if that meant sacrificing my own life, even if that meant killing those who opposed it. I had to. I had to join the people that wanted the same thing as me.”
A growing ferocity began to radiate, his voice severe. “I witnessed so many of my fellow soldiers, my friends, die thoughtlessly at the hands of others. And I wanted them to feel the same pain that I felt. Is it hypocritical? Of course, I know that. Is it cruel? Yes, murder is rarely not. But it's in the name of protection, defiance against control from an overpowering force. Those who fight with the First Order, who take over planets and kill innocents for the sake of power, they know what they’re doing. They know the consequences, the outcome, the hold the galaxy will be strangled under if they succeed. And they do it anyway. Our cause isn’t more noble, it’s self-defence. We’re trying to protect the ones who aren’t able to fight back, and those who don’t deserve to be born into a world that will crush them into submission.”
Poe’s features turned darker, leaning in close. “I will never stop thinking about the lives I’ve taken. I will never not hold myself accountable for the sins I’ve committed. But I will also not sit and do nothing. I don’t need you to accept it, but at least try to understand. You and I want the same thing, in the end, to save as many people as possible in our short lifetime. I’m just doing the best I can to see that through.”
While I instinctively took a breath in preparation to speak, nothing came. He’d rendered me speechless.
I had no reply to give, no counterargument, no flaw to point out. His honesty floored me, raw emotion and long-felt guilt rising up for me to observe so openly. The pain behind his eyes seemed so much more acute than any of the other injuries he’d sustained, not trying to shield it from my view as he spoke.
I tried to find words, anything to articulate my forgiveness. Because I did understand. He’d made me see it, the same anguish over death that I felt. But he’d also made me realise what a coward I was.
Against the people who would kill him or control him, he fought back. While I hid myself away under the guise of selflessness.
I thought I was the hero of my story, giving up my home, my old life, for the benefit of the downtrodden people of this planet. In reality, I was a scared little girl, too gutless to push back against those I, and so many others in this galaxy, feared. And here Poe was, putting himself in harm’s way, every day, in the hopes that he could take away our fear forever.
He began to rise in front of me, taking my lack of reply as an answer in itself. He seemed despondent, his face sullen as he turned to limp back to the bed.
A different kind of fury coursed through me, fury at myself for how easily I’d judged him, at how cruelly I’d treated him.
I couldn’t let the night end this way.
I picked myself up from the sofa and quickly lunged at his wrist, pulling him to face me. He was surprised, glancing with wide eyes to where my hand had caught him, then to my face. I tried desperately to convey it there, everything I wanted to say, struggling to find my voice. Poe waited for me to speak the words I clearly had sitting on the edge of my tongue, but everything I conjured didn’t seem to be enough, the jumbled thoughts swirling incoherently in my mind, never letting me quite grasp onto them long enough to form exactly what I needed to express.
Tension filled the space between us, thick and overwhelming. I soon began outlining the lines of his face, the crease currently stuck in his brow, the curve of his nose, the contour of his jaw, the arch of his lips.
My hands found themselves catching each side of his face, pulling his mouth to mine in a desperate kiss.
I’d held it back for so long, too long, now unable to deny the burning urge to melt my lips into his. He was alarmed at first, his mouth frozen from movement as he comprehended my sudden attack.
Yet quickly he was syncing his lips fluidly with mine, a hand rising to clutch the back of my neck, pulling me closer. His casted arm curled around my waist, pressing my body into his, feeling the heat radiating off his chest.
The fire in my lower abdomen roared into bright red flames again, spreading into the rest of my body like molten lava. He tasted even better than I’d imagined, our tongues beginning to find each other through parted mouths. Fingers moved into his hair, hungrily grasping at the curled strands, causing a low moan to seep from his throat. The sound made me even more forceful in my need for his lips to be connected with mine, barely having time to breathe in-between our eager kisses.
I wanted to have him, all of him, so deeply it was painful, the searing burn lighting up in my veins.
Don’t do this Alexys. It will ruin you.
My breath hitched as I reluctantly pulled away, looking up, seeing his pupils swollen. He was cautious then, moving his hand from my neck to push a strand of hair behind my ear, almost if at any moment I would flee from his embrace.
And that’s what half of me was begging to do, the other screaming at me to lock our lips together again. I felt split into two, a cracking beginning to divide me roughly in the middle.
I could see Poe searching through my gaze, trying to assess my thoughts, whether it was safe to continue. He leaned in gradually, testing my reaction. I didn’t recoil this time. I didn’t want to.
His lips melted into mine, less insistent than before, although somehow just as intimate. Inhibitions lowered, my hands slid down to his chest, noticing the hard muscles underneath my palms and feeling the fire inside me surge. I wanted to feel the bare skin underneath, to have it pressed against my own. To explore the other parts of him covered by clothes. To forget even for a short time that this was wrong, that I shouldn’t be doing this.
Poe gently withdrew, leaning his forehead into mine. “I know.”
“Know what?”
He exhaled a long breath. “I know you don’t want to do this.”
I replaced my hands to his cheeks. “You have no idea how much I want this. How much I want you.” The truth of the words made me feel both vulnerable and safe, for the first time giving in to the yearning I’d hoped to keep locked inside my chest.
He tensed, a slight tremble in the arm that curved around my body. But his face grew sombre, almost... sad. “You don’t. Not completely. I can feel you wanting to hold back,” he murmured. “I can feel your fear.”
I swallowed hard, unable to refute him. “…I’m sorry. I want to. But I just… I can’t."
We both looked down, my confirmation making the tone of our connection shift. He was silent for what felt like a long time, and we stayed motionless in our embrace, neither wanting it to end, knowing it was inevitable that we would have to part.
“Why?” he breathed. “Why are you afraid?”
I wanted to be honest with him, like he had been for me, so much the sensation felt like it was clawing out from inside me, determined to burst through the skin. But there was a barrier there, one I had forged long ago. Unyielding and impenetrable to anything or anyone.
Although, I felt another realisation simmer to the surface of my mind, one that was not nearly as exposing, but still true.
“You’re going to leave. And I have to stay here. I don’t… I don’t want that to hurt any more than it has to.”
It seemed to hit him then, like he hadn’t let the thought enter his mind before. The awareness of our predicament shone brightly in his eyes, a light switch flickering on.
His hand moved to my cheek, grazing his thumb softly against the skin, my heart throbbing inside its cage at his light touch. I watched as eyes scanned over my face, back and forth, as if memorising the features. It was then I knew he’d come to the same conclusion.
It wouldn’t be long before we would part, most likely to never see each other again. If we went any further, if we crossed that line, the pain of saying goodbye would become so much more unbearable.
Almost simultaneously, we let our hold on each other loosen, the disappointment in the air almost palatable on my tongue. The smouldering inside had burnt out, suffocated by the gloom weighing heavy in my chest. Poe took my hand in his, his eyes pleading. “Can I ask one thing of you?’
I moved my head in a slow nod.
“Sleep in this bed with me tonight. Just sleep. I promise.” It was an earnest request, his face imploring and unguarded.
In contempt of the voice in my head bellowing at me that this was a terrible idea, I agreed. “Okay.”
Together we tentatively walked to each side of the mattress, making no rush to slip under the covers and settle into the pillows. I faced away, fearing if I looked at Poe's charming face any longer, I would surrender to the pull of desire that never seemed to relent. I didn’t know how I was ever going to be able to fall asleep like this, his body radiating an energy that vibrated into the space between us, keeping me all too aware of his presence.
There was movement, a dip in the mattress, Poe’s arms curling around my torso, pulling me close. His face buried itself into my hair, the warmth of his gradual exhale sending charged shivers down my spine. Placing my arms over his, silently accepting his embrace, I felt my heart thump a calming glow through my chest, all the way to the end of my limbs.
I’d never felt so peaceful, so whole, becoming lost in the comfort of his hold, wishing I could bask in it forever.
But reality bit at me, cold and uninvited, reminding me of the goodbye I would have to give soon enough.
*
We were still entangled when consciousness came again, the dim light of early sunrise leaking through my window. Poe’s arms circled around me, my body fitting perfectly into his.
He was still asleep, his face resting just at the back of my head, slow breaths bristling into my hair. I relished the feeling of it all, trying to commit it to my memory.
I stayed there, motionless, waiting for time to run out, knowing I would be chasing the feeling of this in the months, maybe years, to come. Thinking about his future absence made me terrifyingly lonely, even with his arms wrapped around now.
Eventually the seconds ticked down to my chronometer alarm buzzing, rustling Poe awake from his slumber. I assumed he would begin to move, pulling away, this one night that bonded us together finally ending. Yet he stayed as unmoving as I had been, the only indication he had awoken the increased depth of his inhale, a small tense of his muscles. I went to move, to switch the screeching sound off, but he clutched me back into his chest, squeezing tight.
As much as my heart thumped at the pressure of his hips into mine, the noise of my alarm was grating. “Let me turn it off,” I whispered. “I’ll come right back.”
Poe loosened his grip reluctantly, allowing me to reach over to the screeching machine and mute its sound. I settled back comfortably into his arms again, as he nuzzled his face into my neck, lips faintly placing a kiss on the skin.
“Poe… please… don’t…”
His sigh whistled past my neck. “Come with me, when I leave.”
It annoyed me, his fleeting demand so easily spoken. As if I could suddenly give up all that encompassed my life before he appeared, the beings that depended on me. But his voice was so sincere, so entreating in the early morning, that the irritation dashed away from the forefront of my mind.
“You know I can’t do that.”
He acknowledged my answer in the shift of his body from around me, moving himself out of the bed we had shared for the night and leaving me alone underneath the sheets.
It burned, the unprecedented disconnection of his shape from mine, my chest forming into a black hole in the realisation I might never feel him that close again.
I wanted to let my emotion to take over, to give in to the pain that rushed to me now as the finality of our night cradled together became evident. But I refused to release it, my resolve from the night before holding strong. I knew I’d made it harder by giving in to Poe's innocent plea of sharing a slumber within his embrace, but I wasn’t going to let our farewell completely ruin me.
With a forced composure, I rose from my bedside, focusing on the appointments scheduled to fill my day. Through my haze I recalled many of them being young female patients in need of birth control. I would somehow have to shut Poe away, wanting to give these women the privacy they deserved.
*
Poe and I appeared to use the ‘freshers at the same time, the searing heat I usually liked being showered with restrained no matter how high I pushed the temperature button. Eventually I’d readied myself for the workday ahead, deciding on a pencil skirt and lightened blue blouse tucked into the waist, working my hair into a ponytail.
It was when I’d begun making breakfast, for both myself and all the company that I kept in the clinic at the moment, that Poe emerged back into my quarters in a set of dark black hospital clothes. I glanced at him only briefly as he entered, hearing him pull out a chair, not daring to look at his face yet.
“Smells good,” he uttered, breaking the silence that existed in exemption to the sautéed chicken eggs and nuna bacon sizzling in the large pan in front of me.
“It’s almost ready,” I remarked, feeling completely the disconnection between us in his tone. Half of me was glad he accepted the separation we needed to make, the other mourning the severed bond we had formed in the connection of our bodies. But I had to let it go, whatever was left of the fragile link that survived the night.
I continued preparing the hot meal, separating the foodstuff between Poe and Vixur’s crew. Once I’d gently placed a share in front of Poe at the table, a smile meeting him fleetingly, I took the rest with me, balancing the four dishes on my hands and forearms, moving cautiously through the hallway.
With impeccable timing Vixur and his students were conversing between each other, obviously having woken just before I came to greet them.
“I’ve got breakfast for you all,” I announced, setting it down at the meeting table across from my computer. It was generally used as a place I could sit with patients and their families when giving them their diagnosis or explaining treatment plans, but today it would have to work as a secondary dining table. All four men jabbered back thankyous as they moved quickly to sit and eat, their appreciation evident in the way they gulped down the meal without hesitation. I returned to my quarters to find Poe picking lazily at his food, only a few bites eaten.
“Does it taste bad?” I asked from behind him, before circling to my seat at the table.
He looked up swiftly, as if I’d startled him. He must have been deeply lost in thought not to hear me treading down the hallway.
“It’s delicious,” he urged. “I’m just… not that hungry.”
“Are you feeling alright? Are you still sore? Are you-“
“Alex, I’m fine,” he interrupted. “You can’t fix a bad mood with any of your treatments.”
I looked at him curiously. “Bad mood?”
Did I do that to him?
“Did you not sleep well?”
He didn’t answer me right away, a subtle scowl settling in his lips. “It was actually... the most restful sleep I’ve had in a long time.”
I fought the urge to beam at him, a smile waiting to form, but the gloomy expression he wore held it down. I had to agree with him - it truly was the most comfortable rest I’d experienced in recent memory. And knowing I would never feel that peaceful, dreamless slumber in his arms again made me fully understand why he was frowning.
“Thank you so much for the meal Alex. I just... don’t have an appetite right now.” Poe rose from his seat and took his plate to clean, his sombre mood spilling into my body and taking over. Wringing his hands dry, He turned back to me. “Is it still alright if I keep using your office to continue working on BB-8?”
I nodded. “It would actually be preferable. Most of my patients today are women, and I need privacy for their appointments. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come out, okay?”
Poe understood what I’d only hinted at. “Sure thing. I won’t step a foot out that room without your permission.”
A kind smile formed on his lips, but it fell as he moved from my quarters, leaving me to my breakfast, which now seemed extremely unappetizing.
*
“Well, Kaia, you’ve got a couple of options,” I started. It was my 5th appointment of the day, and I was starting to lose all hope in the young generation that followed mine. “You can get the implant, which lasts 5 years and protects you from pregnancy. But it can be a painful procedure, and unfortunately the implant itself is quite expensive. There are injections which last 3 months, but you’ll have to see me again in that time frame. I know that’s hard for you being from the South village. But there’s always prophylactics, which your partner has to use, every separate time you want to be intimate.”
Kaia was a 17-year-old human girl who had obviously not been taught any helpful sex education. Although, that wasn’t uncommon in these villages.
“But, like,” she began to question. “Can’t he just, like, not, um, finish in there?”
I drew in a deep breath. This wasn’t the first time I’d explained this today. “Technically yes, if he withdraws from you before that moment comes, it does lessen the chance of pregnancy. But Kaia, there’s a lot of fluid already leaking from him before then, fluid that can contain sperm. It doesn’t protect you. Not fully.”
Kaia was thoughtful, taking in my words. “But what if he doesn’t want to use the sheath?”
“Well... that’s his decision. But then you have to make yours. A decision that you’re more than allowed to make. One night could lead to either a future of motherhood or even diseases that could cause a great deal of damage to your body.”
“Ew,” Kaia recoiled. “I mean, I get what you’re saying. But Miss Jago, haven’t you ever been so swept up in the moment that you didn’t think about any of that?”
My jaw clenched, catching me off guard with her question. None of the other women had posed it to me. “It’s not been an issue for me,” I said flatly.
“Because of the birth control, right?” she surmised. “Which one do you use then?”
Oof, caught me out again.
“I don’t have the need for it. Kaia, this is not about me-”
“Wait, what?” she gasped. “But you’re so pretty?”
I soaked my voice in its professional tone. “This is your appointment Kaia, we’re not here to discuss my personal life.”
Kaia refused to comply. “But you’ve done it, right?”
I sighed, irritated. “Yes Kaia, but we took all the necessary precautions.”
“Well that doesn’t make it sound very fun,” Kaia huffed.
I tried desperately to hold back the aversion wanting to show on my face. It hadn’t been fun. It was clunky, awkward and somewhat painful. And I felt a spike of envy that this teenager already seemed to have had better experience with the opposite sex than I did.
“Look, your options are there. If I had to choose one, and I was with a partner I could trust had nothing that could spread to me, I’d go with the implant.”
She contemplated my advice, pulling her hands up to let her chin rest on them. “I think you’re right Miss Jago. But my parents would never help me pay for it.”
“That’s alright,” I replied, already knowing the home situation Kaia found herself in. She’d made the trek to my clinic alone, without her parent’s knowledge, just to see me for this single reason. I doubted they even knew she had a boyfriend. “How about I put the implant in today, and we figure out payment later?”
Kaia’s face lit up, eyes brimming with delight. “Really?”
I smiled at her and nodded.
“Thank you!” she squealed, face barely containing her excitement.
Really, this was for both her benefit and my own. I wasn’t about to face her parents when it would ultimately be me providing the news their daughter was pregnant. I didn’t want Kaia to go through that, a young pregnancy in a poor village after her parents would most likely cast her out.
“Remember I said this can be a painful procedure, and you’ll be sore for a day or two afterwards.”
Kaia nodded, understanding, yet unable to hold back her joy.
*
I worked my way through the process of setting her implant, my mind on autopilot while I thought more about the question Kaia innocently queried. I’d never come close to the type of desire that would have caused me to throw away all caution and rational thought. Not until-
“Hey Alex!” I heard from the other side of the curtain I’d drawn for Kaia’s discretion. “I know I said I wouldn’t come out until you said, but I’ve got something I need to show you.”
Poe’s voice was exuberant and proud, annoyingly unaware of the fact I had my hand in a very delicate place. My eyes shot to Kaia’s, her cheeks already flushing red with mortification.
“Poe!” I fumed, not hiding my anger. “I asked you to do one thing!”
I sensed his panic from behind the fabric separating us. “Kriff! Sorry!” His voice changed when he spoke next, a hurried whisper. “BB, come back here! We can’t show her yet!”
A streaming mechanical movement could be heard in my periphery, turning my head to see a shadow moving along the bottom of the curtain. I took the moment to stop what I was doing, covering Kaia with a sheet.
I was thankful I did that when the BB-8 droid slip through a break in the drape, caring little for what Poe had ordered him to do. His little head sat hovering above his balled body, for the first time actually staying in position. The photoreceptor, which looked like a singular eye, was also finally lit as he zoomed closer. While an impressed smirk started to beam as I realised Poe had managed to get his little friend working, it was rapidly overtaken by irritation at the droid’s lack of courtesy.
Poe was cursing under his breath, then apologetic. “Alex and uh, patient, I am so sorry. BB, get out of there!” BB-8 let out a few indiscernible beeps, a language I didn’t understand, although Poe seemed to. “I don’t care! They need privacy. You can see her later!” he hollered.
The droid made what sounded like a high-pitched huff as its head dropped, like it knew it had been scolded. Its head swivelled around on top it’s body and rolled away, again sliding through the break in the curtain.
“Come on, back this way.” I listened to the combination of footsteps and mechanical whirring move back into the hallway, a door eventually clicking closed. Looking apologetically back to Kaia, her face was still stunned at the intrusion.
“I am so sorry. I told him to stay put until my appointments were over. It’s okay if you want to stop for a moment,” I offered, trying to stay as calm as possible.
Kaia blinked purposefully a few times before being able to focus back to me. “No it’s okay. I’m ready.”
I admired her composure, while I remained silently boiling under the surface.
*
“What the hell Poe?” I snarled, barging into my office where Poe sat, seemingly interrupting a conversation he was having with BB-8. I’d clawed my anger into submission for the rest of Kaia’s appointment, but now it was ready to surge outward.
Poe stood, arms held up in surrender. “I know! I’m sorry! I didn’t think, and it was just really bad timing.” BB-8 beeped in what sounded like agreeance, rolling around from behind the office desk into my view.
“It was the worst timing!” I snapped. “That girl was 17, in a very vulnerable position, and you scared the living daylights out of her!”
“I know, and I can’t apologise enough Alex, really!” His face was pleading, brown eyes soft yet desperate. “I was just so excited about BB working again, and I wanted to show you.”
His sincerity disarmed me, my fury sizzling down, suffocated by his apology. I took a slow breath in, eyes closed, reigning it in further. “Please don’t disregard my instructions again,” I grumbled.
He nodded, as did BB-8, and my eyes focused on the droid. He was oddly cute in his appearance, his small beeps already annoyingly adorable. “Hello,” I greeted, all frustration now clean from my voice. “My name is Alexys.” I kneeled down to his eye level and he immediately wheeled directly in front of me, beeping somewhat of his own introduction.
“He said it’s nice to meet you,” Poe clarified, still hesitant at the easy change in my mood.
I looked up at him, curious. “You can understand those sounds he makes?”
“Most of it,” Poe answered. “It’s a form of Binary. Having him with me for so long helped me grow accustomed to the pitch and time changes in his beeps.”
My eyebrows rose, fascinated. “That’s so impressive.” BB-8 squealed in uneven time, his eye looking over to Poe, who almost looked bashful. “What? What did he say?”
He shot BB-8 an irritated look before meeting his eyes to mine. “It’s nothing important. His circuits are still a little fried.”
I wasn’t convinced, but then again I didn’t speak droid. "I'm glad you got him working,” I said earnestly, pleased there hadn’t been any type of casualty from his crash.
Poe sighed, relieved. “Me too. He’s the best co-pilot I’ve ever had.”
BB-8 whistled happily, evidently pleased with the praise, and its sweetness made me smile.
“Alexys?” Vixur suddenly called, his voice echoing down the hall. “Are you back there?”
I left Poe and BB-8 without a word, finding Vixur standing at the hallway entrance, his clothes smeared in dirt and dark grease. “Everything okay?”
Vixur nodded, evidently tired, still an accomplished grin filled his face. “We’re done actually. The comm-tower’s fixed.”
I wanted to smile back, to show my appreciation for his hard work, but it all became too hard to fake anymore.
This was it, the beginning of my goodbye to Poe. He would now be able to contact the Resistance, his friends, and he would soon be gone from my life just as suddenly as he arrived.
I forced the tears back as I hugged Vixur, doing all I could to hide my pain and show some kind of gratitude for the selfless work he had done.
Somehow Vixur sensed the turmoil simmering through me, patting my back softly. He pulled out of our embrace, speaking softly enough so Poe wouldn’t hear. “You needed this done for him, didn’t you?”
I nodded, the sadness hard to contain on my face. Vixur’s own expression was sympathetic as he squeezed my arm reassuringly. I didn’t need to explain anything, he just seemed to know.
“If it’s meant to be, you’ll find each other again.”
I drew in a long breath, furiously smothering the need to cry. I wanted to thank him more, for giving his time to me for little in return, but I couldn’t say the words out of fear the sudden sorrow would overwhelm me if I spoke out loud.
Vixur understood this, giving me a caring smile as he took his leave. “Well, we best be heading back to the village. I’ll see you sometime soon Alex. If I don’t, I wish you luck.”
And he was gone, the clinic door closing behind him, leaving me frozen in dread. A large part of me was reluctant to tell Poe the ‘good news’, but he’d waited long enough for his rescue from this planet.
I didn’t need to turn around to know he’d slinked out of the office to find me stuck where I stood, BB-8’s soft whirring following him.
“The comm-tower is ready, isn’t it?” Poe asked gently.
I forced myself to smile as I turned around, Poe’s expression not showing the relief I would have expected.
“Sure is,” I replied, the hint of quiver in my voice. “You can finally go home.”
I saw Poe’s lip tremble as he too attempted a smile, the disappointment in his eyes more indicative of his actual reaction to my answer.
Neither of us spoke for a long time, BB-8 looking back and forth quizzically, a few unsure beeps finally pierced in Poe’s direction. The sounds knocked us back into reality, as I moved to find the transmitter I’d stashed back into my tech station after determining its redundancy days ago.
The memories felt foreign, like they were from a different age. So little time had changed me so much, making me feel the most unstable and fragile I had felt in so long, on the verge of tipping into an overwhelming pain.
Poe had watched me in silence, unmoving. I eventually shifted the transmitter into his arms, an extremely aged, large box with an array of dusty buttons poking out of the rusted metal.
“It’s old, but it still works,” I insisted in a monotone, the emotion sucked from my voice. Poe only nodded, and gave me one last despairing glance as he turned away, carrying the machine into the study, BB-8 trailing behind him.
When the door closed, I couldn’t hold onto it any longer, the overpowering misery bursting free, its icy presence consuming me in a singular moment, the cold burn stinging as a few tears trickled down my cheeks.
What did I tell you?
The tears came faster at the sound of the voice, it’s condescension only making the suffering more excruciating.
No.
You’re wrong. I’m stronger than this.
I wiped away the errant tears defiantly, pulling myself together at the seams that had broken a few minutes ago, calming my breathing, trying to settle the trembling on inhale.
I’d made it through so much worse, pushed past crushing loneliness, fear and sadness, to make myself more resilient than I was behaving now. And I wasn’t going to let myself be caught in this vortex of emotion any longer.
I will not let this ruin me.
~
Next Chapter
Tag list: @tlcwrites @roanniom @foxilayde @blackberries45 @hopeamarsu @caillea @princessxkenobi @leatherboundbirate @blowthatpieceofjunk @mylifeisactuallyamess @lightsinthedistancee @paterson-blue
(Please let me know if you wanted to be added or removed!)
#poe dameron#poe dameron x original female character#kylo ren#kylo ren x original female character#star wars#star wars fanfiction#adcu#adcu fanfiction#poe dameron x reader#poe dameron x female reader#kylo ren x reader#kylo ren x female reader#I SWEAR KYLO IS COMING OKAY THIS IS A SLOW BURN
31 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Millennium Rose (Teaser)
Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters
Fanfiction By: @rmorningstar21
Pairing: Yami Yugi/Atem x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Minor violence, loneliness (?), nothing gets more violent than the series itself - Rated T.
Posted on AO3 (rmorningstar21) as The Millenium Rose; Posted on Wattpad (rmorningstar21) as The Cursed Millennium Rose, and The Struggling Millennium Rose - Third book for Wattpad coming soon as “The Rejuvenated Millennium Rose”.
AN: Okay, so I will be the first to admit that my The Millennium Rose series is an older series of mine - one of the first chapter stories I truly got invested in. It’s been on hiatus for quite some time, but that hiatus will be coming to an end soon. For those of you who haven’t stumbled upon this on either platform, I wanted to share a little teaser (first chapter) of my series. This follows from Season 1 onwards.. Reader and Atem are married before Pharaoh Atem is sealed in the Millennium Puzzle. I was going to end this one after the Battle City Finals, but due to popular request, posting will begin after my current commission chapter story is up. I typically age up, but was started prior to doing so. Due to the rating, I haven’t changed that. Wanted to keep it accessible for all readers.
A chill crawled up your spine, stinging with each centimeter it moved, grasping your hands tightly to your arms to attempt to shield yourself. Though you were not sure exactly what you were shielding yourself from, albeit the pain or the darkness that was engulfing your body. As you felt the darkness falling hard upon you, like a weighted blanket that you could not hold, a faint light laid on the floor, illuminating each twisting maze as you stepped. Each time you walked further through the maze, you could feel the pain increasing, beginning to make your steps more and more tedious. You attempted to call out, to call for his name in the dark, with no avail. Your mouth opened, but as the air escaped your lungs, your voice did not ring. It was almost like choking - the pain that strode into your lungs from your throat - but you could not utter a single word.
Hours passed as you circled the maze, walking in each and every stone cold direction, the pain of the chills slowly seething your skin. Your surroundings were blackness, and yet you seemed to walk in a labyrinth, swearing that you had turned this way prior, been in each and every spot before, again and again. Inaudible cries of pain burned in your throat as you continued to walk on, your legs growing tired, lungs constricting. Hopelessness swelled in your chest as you continued on and on, silent tears beginning to fall from your tired eyes.
Your tired, crying eyes met a figure, merely ten feet away from where you were walking in what seemed like a room. For a moment you froze, studying the figure, but as you were met with lilac orbs, you took your exhausted legs and ran towards the figure. The small glimmer of hope taunted you, showing you the man that kept your legs going on your weighted journey, lonesome darkness entangling down to your very soul. Hope swelled in your chest as you ran, but as you did the room began to get further away, his lilac orbs seeming to grow smaller and smaller away from your vision. Still your feet patted forward until there was no ground beneath you.
As the ground had disappeared, you had begun your journey downward. Hastily the gravity took your body, plummeting into a deep abyss. Tears once again rained from your eyes. Your heart dropped as you did, and you tried so hard to scream, feeling it scratching at your throat, constricting it.
He was gone, and you had failed to reach him.
***
You awoke with soaked cheeks and labored breaths, before glancing around and realizing that you were not in that labyrinth any longer. Another nightmare, you thought to yourself, though every day you lived the nightmares that you slept with. I miss him. Ironically, your nightmares had held your memory intact over time, reminding you of the reason you kept on fighting day in and day out in this monotonous world. Though you would never be able to forget his handsome face, his lilac orbs burned into your skull. As your y/e/c eyes scanned the room, it was simply a relatively plain room surrounding you, little trinkets upon your dresser in the form of plush monsters, and your deck sitting comfortably next to a kuriboh plush that you had grown to adore. Attempting to steady your breath, you wiped your face free of the salty sadness and glanced at the time flashing upon your alarm clock, your eyes still holding a light redness from when you had been crying in your sleep. Springing to your feet, you nearly fell over, steadying yourself on the side of your bed before further action. Your head was woozy with the newfound movement, the room slowly coming back to you as your dizzy spell passed you.
Making your way to your small, gray walled bathroom, you threw your prior clothes aside and hopped into a quick shower. Hastily you scrubbed yourself with your f/s body gel, not getting enough time to even enjoy the kisses of the warm water that drenched over your frigid body. In less than five minutes time, you were already dressed, hair dried, and grabbing at your black messenger bag that laid next to the door. You tucked your deck safely into your bag before gentle fingers reached to touch lightly upon your golden wristband. For a moment, you allow your eyes to close, thinking of your wristband. It held the symbol to keep your life intact as well as cursed, leaving you to deal with the merits and disappointments of this life. Then as your eyes were still closed, those lilac eyes showed in your mind, reminding you of the reason you keep on with this silly charade, hoping that one day everything will change.
Practically jogging out the door, you made your way to your new life once again. Domino High School, as you read upon the sign, looked bustling and boring from the eyes of a woman who had attended countless high school’s over time. The crowds had shown that it was definitely a more lively school than the last you had attended, though not as lively as the one you had attended prior. Maybe if you did not forever look 16, you would not have to attend so many boring lectures in your life, but you had attended plenty in your time, across the globe. Each curriculum merely had minor changes to it, if any, and you had to purposely get things wrong from time to time to not seem out of the ordinary. The world changed and grew around you, while you stayed the same, the same h/c h/l, and young y/e/c orbs. The only thing that had changed over time was your skin, which had lightened from your Egyptian tan to a pale ivory, just as everyone else looked around you. It was just another boring day in monotony for you, but there was a presence around that had kept you on your toes as you entered your newfound high school. You could feel something was different in the world now, which had rose excitement and fear in your young body.
***
You were coming out of your geometry class, holding your books tightly to your chest and walking quickly to your locker before lunch, your eyes at your feet as you walked. As you did so, you were lost in thought, and before you knew it, you whacked directly into something solitary, causing you to stumble backwards, staring up in a moment of terror. What you had found was that you ended up slamming directly into another student, and blush began rising in your cheeks from the embarrassment. It was needless to say that the boy looked unpleasant with his round face that seemed to hold a permanent scowl. The boy looked as if he were maybe 17, largely boned, while you had a very tiny frame, yet he glared angrily at you as if you had pushed him off of a cliff. On the other hand, you were the one with the books scattered all over the ground, and the impact had caused your tailbone to whack the floor, causing a sharp, yet temporary pain.
“I’m so sorry!” you said frantically, grabbing your books quickly and pulling yourself to your feet. You bowed slightly in respect and began to rush off before you felt a pull at the back of your uniform. Seconds later, you were pinned against the wall, staring up at the unpleasant boy you had angered, his face looking even more unpleasant than previously. It was as if the anger building in him was surfacing due to what you would assume was a slight inconvenience.
“Don’t think just because you’re new you can get away with that,” he growled, pressing harder against your shoulder.
Just my luck that I run into the school bully on my first day here, you thought to yourself, your heart pounding in your chest. This was not particularly an uncommon occurrence for you, seeing as you had attended plenty of high schools over the last couple thousand years, but nevertheless, you were still a relatively scrawny girl with a 16 year old body. Old souls still did not have super strength, after all. Though you could likely send him to the shadow realm, doing something so rash on your first day would have been a mistake that you would have to live with for the rest of the time you could attend school there, and you shied away from that idea. “I didn’t mean to harm you,” you said cowering back, pain beginning to build in the shoulder he was pressing on. “I-I it’ll never happen again.” You attempted your best fake smile, and yet it dropped almost immediately as the rage fueled his face, watching it scrunch even more.
The boy drew his free hand back, and was about to send it directly into your face. You could see the build up, and your eyes squeezed shut tightly. After a few moments without impact, you opened your eyes back up to see the boy being held back by another student. “You shouldn’t hit a lady,” the slender boy said with the relatively pointed hair, all coming up at the top. As you finally were fully registering what was going on, you saw that the boy was holding the bully’s fist, twisting it slightly. “And if you don’t let go of her, we are going to have problems, buddy.”
The school bully that was about to attack you cowardly ran away, letting go of your shoulder, and letting your body slump to the floor. You could hear a few people talking to the boy that had just saved you, but you were too busy trying to control your breathing, and attempting to ignore the pain that seared through your shoulder. After a few moments, you noticed a hand outstretched to you, paired with a gentle smile on the boy’s face whom had just saved you. With your good arm you had taken it, letting him bring you to your feet.
“Uh, thank you, so very much,” you said bowing slightly, a formal gesture that you had not broken over so many years. You smiled softly at the boy, holding your books tightly to you, despite the pain that you felt still radiating through your shoulder. There was no doubt that the bully had at least left a bruise upon your shoulder from the pressure he was using, and though he was a coward to the boy that had saved you, he likely would have slammed a fist directly into your face.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?” the boy said with a genuine smile.
You had nodded at his words, meekly saying, “I just moved here.” In actuality, of course you had just moved there, but you knew that every school was basically the same. Each school that you had run into, you had your share of those issues. Sometimes there were kind strangers willing to help, occasionally you had friends that had your back, and then sometimes you would have to deal with a swift fist hitting you somewhere. Bullies were a common occurrence for high schools, and that was one of the few things that made you regret not aging.
“I’m Tristan, and these are my friends.” He gestured back to the group you assumed you were hearing while you were still on the floor.
“I’m Tea,” a girl with short brunette hair said with a kind smile.
A boy with a Brooklyn accent and blonde hair said next, “I’m Joey.”
And the last boy could have given you a heart attack standing right there. He said, “I’m Yugi,” but as you noticed the spiked multi color hair on his head, the first thing you thought of was him. Your heart skipped a beat, though the boy was definitely smaller than the one that you longed so desperately for. The differences were subtle, and yet you could see each one. His stature, for one, and for two, the shaping of his eyes was much more child-like than him, though they held the same lilac color. Yugi had a shy, yet kind smile upon his face, and continued with, “Would you like to come with us to lunch?”
For a moment, you bit your lip, unsure of what to say. As you weighed your options, you studied the group, though your eyes were mainly set upon the boy who called himself Yugi. He was so much like him, and yet not. If he was a reincarnation of him, would that be even possible? As your y/e/c orbs raked over the peculiar group, you noticed something odd hanging from the short boy’s neck. Just as your item held your wrist was Egyptian, you could clearly see that what he had was an artifact, a very familiar one for that matter. Thinking, you glanced to your wrist, and back to it, and it dawned upon you, making you nod quickly. “I-I would love to, thank you,” you said rushed, realizing that you had been standing there in awe and silence. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”
As you walked with the group, you couldn’t help but keep looking over at the Millennium Puzzle adorning the young boy’s neck. Maybe, you wondered to yourself, but attempted to shake the thought of as you stood in line with the group and got lunch with them all. Even if it was, would he remember me?
When the group had gotten their lunches, you sat beside Tea and Yugi while Tristan and Joey sat across from you three. Through your peripheral vision, you would occasionally catch small glances of Yugi, particularly of the millennium item adorning his neck. Excitement was rising in your chest, even paired with a small bit of hope that you could be right. If the prophecy was truly real, then you would be right. What ifs ran through your mind as you thought more and more about it, though you attempted to keep regular conversation going on with the group when necessary. They seemed like kind people, and even if somehow you were wrong, you picked the right group to hang out with for this attended school.
#pharaoh atem#Yugioh Duel Monsters#ygo dm#atem x reader#yugi moto#tea gardner#tristan taylor#joey wheeler#reader insert#yugioh yami yugi#forgotten memories
82 notes
·
View notes
Text
aeonian (h.h.j)
genre: fluff, angst, immortal au
word count: 1.4k
~warning: mentions of death, character death
Network tag: @stayverse
a/n: thanks to @blueprint-han for the banner and helping me with this fic. I swear if it's not for you, it wouldn't turn out this good 🥺🥺 (and I come back to tumblr :3)
The first time you saw him was when he stepped inside the cafe that you worked at. His presence was enough to captivate people, their gazes lingering on his form as he walked past them and went to the counter.
"One cup of Americano, please."
His order was simple. Just a cup of Americano. He ordered the same thing the next day. Until it became a routine. He would walk into the cafe and come up to you. You would be ready with his usual order. You both exchanged smiles, you being too shy to start a conversation.
"I think he likes you." Your co-worker would say, giggling.
You shook your head at her ridiculous statement, continuing your work as you felt his gaze on you, watching you intently.
A few weeks later, you mustered up enough courage to talk to him. As you made way timidly towards his table, your heart beating frantically, fearing his reaction.
"Excuse me? You come around a lot but I haven't caught your name yet. Mine's Y/N and I just hope we can be friends?"
His smile was beautiful. Too beautiful to be human. Yet his eyes were carrying something, like sadness and longing but you couldn't pinpoint it.
"The name is Hyunjin. Nice to meet you."
"Why do you keep coming to our café even though it's miles away from your place?"
Hyunjin looked up from his cup to stare at you, lips lifting in a smile. He pushed the cup away from him, finger drumming on the table as you waited for him to answer.
"Your coffee is delicious. They remind me of someone. That's all."
You frowned at his answer. Hyunjin seems to notice that you were not satisfied with his answer yet he didn't say anything.
"Why don't you ask that person to make your coffee then? Did you guys fight or something?
You asked, absentmindedly stirring your coffee. Hyunjin went quiet for a while before opening his mouth.
"She died a few years ago."
You stopped stirring, guilt starting to fill your being. You grabbed his outstretched hand, nearly knocking the cups over.
"I'm sorry. That's rude of me. I don't mean to bring that up." "It's okay."
Hyunjin smiled lightly, patting your hand as you kept on apologizing. You eventually picked up your head to look into his eyes, fighting back his gaze.
A wave of nostalgia suddenly hit you. You didn't know why but his eyes seem familiar somehow. Like you already saw them before.
"Y/N? Are you there?"
You jerked out from your trance as Hyunjin waved his hand in front of your face. He looked worried.
"I'm okay. It's just I think I remember something when I stared into your eyes." "Oh. That's good."
And the next day, he didn't come back.
People think being immortal must be nice. You won't die. You won't get hurt. You could live for so long and you won't ever get old. It's a way of avoiding death, the thing that people feared so much.
But not for Hyunjin. If he had to choose, he chooses death.
For starters, he needs to see all his loved ones die with his own eyes and it will continue to haunt his memory forever. He can't stay in one area for a long time just in case anyone noticed him. No matter how much the town means to him, he had moved away to avoid causing a ruckus.
He needs to change his identity often which is the only way so people won't recognize him and sell him out. He hates being immortal.
Not to mention, it's hard for him to fall in love. Hyunjin has been falling in love with the same person every time for 400 years now. No matter how much you changed over time, he still falls for you.
It hurts to see you falling in love, getting married, having kids, and hearing you passed away. He could have approached you yet he knows he won't stand a chance with you and the thought of seeing you dying hurts him.
Yet, this was the first time you approached him first. He still looks after you from time to time, helping you in secret if you have ever been in trouble and it surprised him when you approached his table shyly, asking to be friends.
And so Hyunjin agreed.
But when she started to remember a little bit from her past life, Hyunjin knew it was time for him to flee. He couldn't risk you remembering him. As much as he hated to leave, Hyunjin knew it was for the best.
For 40 years, he lived alone, far away from your city. He suppressed his desire to see you, to know if you're doing good, to find out if you got over him.
Until one day, he couldn't take it anymore. So he went back to your city, just to watch you from afar. Seeing you after all these years, still smiling brightly while running the little cafe, made him feel relieved to see you doing so well without him.
He was surprised to find out you still didn't get married yet, like your other past life. Until he found out you were still waiting for him and you already knew the fact about him being immortal.
Turned out, Hyunjin stupidly left his sketchbook, the one where he keeps all his sketches of Y/N from her different life after their last encounter together. And it seems like she pieced it together to form a conclusion that he's immortal.
And so Hyunjin decided to come back. This time, to stay until your very last breath.
The bell on the door chimed merrily as someone stepped inside the cafe. You picked up your head from the old cash register, smiling at the person in front of you.
His presence, as always, drew people in to look at him, gaping at his figure. Even after 40 years, he still had that dazzling smile on his face.
"You didn't change much, Hyunjin." "And you aged beautifully, Y/N"
You chuckled slowly, shaking your head as tears collected at the brim of your eyes. Hyunjin helped you to get out from the counter, his hand gripping yours tightly.
"I may be old but I'm not fragile yet."
You mumbled as Hyunjin fussed over you, asking if you were comfortable. You sighed, smiling, a bit amused at his antics. You pulled his hand to sit next to you. Smiling, he held your hand tenderly, as your tears once again flooded the brim of your eyes.
"I missed you."
As the noises from the background faded into silence, you focused solely on Hyunjin as he did the same, the feeling of longing evaporated as you both basked in each other's presence, letting out the yearning for each other.
"Me too, Hyunjin. Me too."
Hyunjin took one last look at the graveyard, focusing on your tomb. He watched as your close ones went back along with him. His mind flew back to the last conversation you had with him yesterday before you passed away in your sleep.
"I'll try to remember you in my next life."
Hyunjin smiled as he fixed your blanket gently, patting your hand. You smiled back as his hand intertwined both of your hands together.
"Don't bother, Y/N. It's never gonna work."
You chuckled but it was quickly cut off with a cough. Hyunjin quickly handed her some water as he helped her sit up on the bed. You waved his hand away as the cough subsided, shaking your head.
"We just need a miracle, Hyunjin. If I can remember you after our last encounter 40 years ago, why won't I remember the next time we meet?"
You reached out to your nightstand and took out his sketchbook, handing it to him. Hyunjin reluctantly accepted it, feeling a bit lost.
"If you show me that sketchbook in my next life, I'm sure I'll remember. After all, I won't forget the person who draws me so beautifully like that."
You chuckled as Hyunjin flipped through the pages. He nodded.
"Now let's get you to sleep. It's late."
That night, Hyunjin drew you while you were sleeping peacefully with a smile on your face as you breathed your last air.
He gripped the sketchbook tightly in his grasp, willing himself not to cry. He let out a watery smile as he walked away from the graveyard, promising himself to do what you told him to do before.
Except, you were never reborn.
#stayverse#skz x reader#stray kids imagines#skz fluff#stray kids x reader#stray kids fluff#skz angst#skz au#skz scenarios#skz hyunjin#skz headcanons#skz hyunjin fluff#skz hyunjin scenarios#hyunjin fluff#hyunjin angst#hyunjin fanfic
105 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
omgilovemeawaterprincess
vibes&dat.
dreamingdixon
rosie writes
mastercabins
Master Cabins
julietteredesyt
Juliette Redes
hacksfood
Untitled